Brilliant Magic
by LJ Summers
Summary: WINNER: BEST HONORARY MARAUDER FIC in the MARAUDER MEDALS, 2016! "Someday . . . you'll do it your own way, not theirs!" Slytherin!Hermione, in which the brilliant witch catches the attention of creative twin wizards. It isn't easy, though. Not all Gryffindors are vastly brave, nor are all Slytherins loyal to their own. FW/HG/GW, AU from Hermione's 1st year. Cover art by windyshoes!
1. Prologue

**_A/N:_** _This is not a Pureblood!Hermione story. This is just my idea of Hermione as a Slytherin, being eventually pursued by the Weasley Twins. It's a slow burn of a romance, but there is actually other stuff happening as well, so I hope you enjoy it._

 _Keep in mind that the twins were born **1 April 1978** and Hermione was born **19 September 1979** , making them almost 1 1/2 years apart in age. So, regardless of what they get up to here, the age difference is negligible and remains constant._

 _For dates and other references, I have relied on the_ ** _Harry Potter Lexicon_** _and_ ** _Harry Potter Wikia._** _If a real-life calendar contradicts the calendars on those sites, I adhere to the calendars from_ ** _Time and Date dot com._**

 _I am following along one of the fandom trends and naming Hermione's parents Daniel and Emma. The Wikia doesn't give the Doctors Granger first names, so those are the ones I chose._ _I eschew canon at will. AU, for the win!_

 _ **This story is complete on my end** and will be posting **Tuesdays** and **Fridays** until it's out in its entirety. I love to hear from my readers and do my best to respond to each reviewer if they're logged in and accepting PMs._

 _Now, I'll try very hard not to have such a long author's note again. :)_

 _-0- -0- -0- -0-_

 ** _Legal Matters, effective for the entire story_** _:_

 _This is a work of derivative fiction. I own many copyrights out in the world, but this is not among them, nor will it ever be. All things_ **Harry Potter** _are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling and/or her assignees. I'm just here for the Portable Magic._

* * *

 **Prologue**

 ** _Hogwarts, 7 July 1990_**

The Headmaster stroked his beard as he eyed the Letter List for the 1990-1991 school year. Over his shoulder, Fawkes—his phoenix familiar—issued a querulous note of song that made one of the names on the parchment vibrate with a sort of odd shimmer.

"What is it, lad? I don't _know_ why she's on there. Her birthday isn't until the _nineteenth_ of September." Dumbledore was set to cross her name off the list but Fawkes shrieked and made a quick hop from his perch to the broad, crowded desk where his wizard presided. "Fawkes. You know the rules. Yes, she is a year ahead in her primary school, but that doesn't mean she'd do well, here. She's Muggle-born."

The Letter List was a magical construct. On this day every year, names would appear on it, as well as dates of birth, along with prospective students' proper addresses. He and Minerva would set the quills to writing the usual _Welcome to Hogwarts_ letters and then they'd add other notes as needed. The parchment would empty itself within seven days and remain empty until the next List was created.

Every year, Albus studied the List thoroughly. He wanted to know what names to expect, what families would be represented, and what their presences might do to the careful balance of politics and education that prevailed over Hogwarts.

From the wall, Phineas Nigellus Black snorted in his portrait frame. The former headmaster set aside the tome he had been reading and made a disparaging sort of sound. "Listening to _creatures_ are you, Albus? _Really_."

"He's a _phoenix_ , Phineas. Of course I listen."

"Well," Headmaster Black said after a moment spent drumming painted fingers on a painted book, "Really, if she had been born three weeks earlier, she'd be starting this year, no? Children do arrive early on occasion."

Against his will, Dumbledore chuckled. "You're right, Phineas. They do. And I suppose that a difference of less than even a full moon's cycle isn't significant to argue with the Letter List. Fine, I'll invite her."

"You might even consider making that an option for the Letter List," the former headmaster opined from his place on the wall. "If the Muggle-born does well, that is."

Albus cocked his head but made no comment. He had never let an underaged witch in to Hogwarts since he'd become headmaster. "I suppose," he said after a few moments, "I have the standing to try something new."

"You could always blame Fawkes," Black said with a smirk.

The phoenix flared his wings, unamused.

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…_

* * *

 _ **A/N** : It's Monday night as I am posting this. I'll have chapter one up in the morning. :)_


	2. Chapter One: Sorting

**A/N:** Wow! I had such a lovely time over coffee, answering reviews. :) Thank you for joining me!

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 ** _King's Cross Station, 1 September 1990_**

"Well, I don't see Platform 9 3/4, but you do, pumpkin, don't you?" Daniel Granger settled one hand heavily on his only child's shoulder as he scanned the immediate vicinity at King's Cross Station. There was another family with a boy about Hermione's age, and they looked just as lost as Dan felt. "Do you remember how the professor told you to go?"

Hermione nodded, her thick brown curls coming loose from the braid her father had tried to make more firm. "I'll be fine, Dad. I practiced when Professor McGonagall gave me the tour." She turned and gave her father a hug. "Tell Mum, okay?" There was no hint of her tension or worry in the smile she offered; she had learned early not to share these emotions with her parents. "This is just the place for me." With a confident toss of her head, Hermione Jean Granger took the trolley handle from her father's reluctant hand and pulled it determinedly toward the brick wall that would serve as a door to her new world.

Upon appearing on the other side, the magical side, of the brick wall, Hermione took a deep breath. She was on her own, here. On her own without Mum or Dad, without even Professor McGonagall. All around her, families—magical families, she was sure—were hugging their children, even those who appeared to be quite old. And some of them had robes! She felt awkward, wearing what she had previously hoped would have been acceptable attire. Her plaid skirt, tights, and light gray jumper were utterly out of place.

 _Well, I have robes. They said to have three, but Mum insisted on buying me five, so I'm all set, there. And my trunk is nice, anyway. Looks new, but that's all right. I better get on the train or I won't find any place to sit_.

If anyone looked at her, their eyes darted away immediately. This was, unfortunately, a circumstance the girl had all too much experience with. When you're a year younger than others in your year at school, it happened. It was like being invisible.

In fact, she had briefly wondered if that was a superpower she might have had—until she learnt she was a witch.

Lugging her trunk behind her, she approached the steps to board the Hogwarts Express. It was a huge train, with an engine that billowed clouds of steam into the sky. How they kept this from Muggles was something Hermione hoped to learn soon. Once in the train, she had to evade bigger students with their foci way over her head. "Excuse me," she muttered over and over again.

At last, she found herself confronting a pair of ginger boys who looked to be a bit older than she was. "Excuse me," she said.

The boys pretended she wasn't there. "George, did you hear something?"

"Dunno, Fred. A fierce ickle firstie, perhaps? Can't tell, really. They're so small."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really. How about something original. If you're not going to let me by, perhaps you could _levitate_ or something so I can go under you? You're wizards, right?"

The boys then looked right at her, their brown eyes open in pretended shock. She saw that they were twins, with vivid red hair and eyebrows that were a shade darker. "Fred! Look, it _is_ a firstie!"

Hermione scowled at the speaker. "You called him George last time. Are you trying to confuse me on purpose?"

The other twin grinned far too broadly. "Why, so we are. Is it working?"

She sighed. "Please. I just want to find a place to sit, all right?"

"Fred! George!" The twins looked up past Hermione, so she turned around, too. Another redheaded fellow—he looked to be an adult, but he was wearing student robes in Gryffindor colors and had a Prefect badge—had a hand up and appeared quite stern. "What're you lot up to?"

Hermione relaxed; she sensed _this_ ginger had no mischief that would go her way. One of the twins shrugged. "Nothing, Charlie. Just talking to this first year."

"Talking." The newcomer turned a bit to meet her gaze. He wasn't too tall, but he was sturdy. He had a couple of scars along his jaw and, when he pointed at the twins, she saw scars on his knuckles, as well. "They bothering you, Miss . . .?"

"Granger, sir."

He smiled, and his freckles seemed to dance on his nose. "Granger. My little brothers bothering you?"

"No, sir. I was just trying to find a compartment."

At her second use of the honorific, he laughed. "I'm _Charlie_. Charlie Weasley. Most of us go by surnames here, in the old ways, but there's such a mess of Weasleys at Hogwarts this year that we just all use our names, yeah?" She nodded, having nothing to say to that. "Right, then. Fred. George." Stepping past them with a no-nonsense speed, Charlie Weasley poked his nose into a few compartments before calling back, "Bring her trunk back here and set it on the overhead. Or I'll tell Mum you were pranking a first year."

They spun to follow his progress. "Bloody hell, Charlie!"

"No fair!

Hermione watched this exchange with wide eyes. Being an only child, she had no experience in sibling interaction.

"Well?" the ginger Prefect asked, standing, but with the air of a man who had things to do and people to see. "I've seen to Percy, I've got first years to settle," he said with another smile and nod to Hermione, "and I've got to make sure you two are in for the ride before I can get to the Prefect cabin. So, come on. Help her out."

The twins shrugged and turned back to Hermione. "Well, let's get you sorted, then."

"Isn't that what the Sorting Hat's for?"

One of the twins offered her a wide smile. "Well, look, Gred. She's made a joke."

Not realizing she'd done so, Hermione still made a quick recover and tried to look as if she'd meant her question in jest. She simply tugged on her trunk and pushed past them on her way to the compartment their elder brother indicated.

Once Charlie Weasley saw she was on her way, he thumped the wall with the flat of his hand. "Right. I'll be checking with you in Hogsmeade, Miss Granger, to make sure those two haven't given you a rough time."

"Er, thanks? I'm sure it'll be fine, sir." He lifted a brow at her. "Charlie, sir?"

"Good enough." And he was off.

The twins, Fred and George, ambled up behind her. They had no trunks or anything, so she guessed they had a compartment of their own already. "What's your first name? You know ours," one of them asked.

Her name hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't give it, yet. "Tell me yours again?" This time she watched carefully; years of trying to determine classmates' pranks on her had made her wary and good at reading expressions that meant someone was lying.

Focusing tightly on their faces, she saw that they opened their eyes wide. This, she was sure, was meant to make them look innocent; she'd seen that expression before and it meant they'd be lying. She tried not to smile; she had them, now. If only she could find a tiny difference between them . . .

"I'm Fred," the one on her right said. "And this is my brother George. We're twins," he added.

She rolled her eyes. "I figured that out."

The one she was sure was George grinned. His brother bent down to pick up her trunk on one side. "So what's your name, firstie?"

"We'll hold this hostage until you tell us," his twin declared, picking up the other end.

"Hermione."

"Granger?" the one she thought was Fred asked.

She held still and studied them again. "Why?"

"I've never heard of that name amongst the pure-blood families, so I just wondered if you were half-blood."

The other asked, "Muggle-born?"

She stiffened her spine. "I am. What House are you in?"

"Gryffindor!" the shouted in unison. Then Fred and George hefted her trunk up to the rack over the bench seat. "You good, here?"

"I am, thanks," she assured them, still studying them. She thought she saw a slight aberration in George's left eyebrow. She was pretty sure that was George, but she kept it to herself for time being. "Thank you for your help."

They smiled and patted her head like she was a puppy before leaving the compartment. They weren't that much taller than she was, so it was kind of ridiculous. But then, so was lying about your own name.

"Boys! Wizarding or Muggle, they're all the same."

The ginger duo didn't return, which she had half-expected. Instead, two girls joined her. One was from Scotland and introduced herself as Cho Chang. "I'm pure-blood," she declared with a flip of her shining black hair. Why someone from Scotland had come to London to go back to Scotland was beyond her, but maybe this was part of the pure-blood ritual.

The other was a girl with reddish blond hair who said she was Marietta Edgecombe. She didn't announce her blood status, and Hermione didn't inquire.

Having read _Hogwarts, A History_ , Hermione hoped she would be prepared when the Hogwarts Express puffed into Hogsmeade. She and the other girls had changed into their school robes when a passing Prefect with a yellow and black tie told them they should.

A tall boy with brown hair and hazel eyes and a Head Boy badge on his robes poked his head into their compartment just as Hermione had started to study the magical village of Hogsmeade from the window. "Hey, you lot? Leave your trunks here; they'll be seen to and sent to your new dorms once you're sorted. Go on down to Hagrid. He'll be calling for your year to take boats to the castle." He eyed them all narrowly. "You do know what I'm talking about, yeah?"

"Yes, sir," Cho said primly. "We do. Thank you."

The Head Boy nodded. "Right, then. Carry on."

Hermione didn't want to leave the train until she saw the older students doing so, which made sense to Cho and Marietta. After a string of tall boys and girls clomped by, laughing and pointing and shouting at one another, the three first years met one another's eyes. "Guess it's time to find the boats?" Marietta asked.

And off they went. To one side of the train, in the dusk of the early evening, there was a string of carriages, but they didn't seem to have any means of propulsion, though a couple moved a bit back and forth, as if eager to get going. "Magic," Hermione murmured to herself. "Must be. They don't have autos, here."

"First years! C'mere to the boats! Time ta get t'the castle!" The huge, north-country voice issued from an enormous man with a bushy beard. "Come on, now!"

The three girls were joined by a boy named Terence Higgs who wanted to talk about Quidditch—a game Hermione had read about but had no idea what it actually looked like—during the entire trip to the castle.

"I'm going to try out for Seeker just as soon as I can," he boasted as the small craft moved purposefully through the water.

Cho listened with avid attention. "Are you? So am I!"

"If we're sorted in the same House, we'll have to compete against each other," the boy said, looking happy about it.

Marietta shifted her body from the Quidditch fans and apparently decided to be nice to Hermione. "So, what House do you think you'll be Sorted into? I'm hoping for Ravenclaw!"

Suppressing a surprised expression, Hermione asked, "You're clever, then?"

It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Marietta's jaw dropped and her eyes watered. "Of course I am! What a thing to say! How dare you!"

It was quite quiet in the boat for the rest of the trip to the castle. And though she was sorry to have offended the girl accidentally, Hermione didn't try to ask for forgiveness, either. Some people just wanted to be offended.

At length, under a darkening sky, the boats slid into their docking area. All the other students leapt out of the boats, and no one stayed back to offer Hermione a hand up until the huge, bearded fellow saw her trying to balance and not fall into the cold lake while she disembarked.

"There, now. Up ya go. March right up there. Professor M'gon'gall is waitin'."

"Thank you, sir."

"I'm Rubeus Hagrid, lass. Gamekeeper and Keeper of the Keys here at Hogwarts."

"I'm Hermione Granger, sir."

He pointed toward a familiar figure. "Well, lass, ye'd bes' be gettin' along to herself, now. Good luck to ya."

"Thank you, sir!"

Hermione took a moment to compose herself before joining the others. Professor McGonagall was indeed a welcome sight to her. Try though she might to present a calm front, Hermione was beginning to feel rather out of her depth. Those boys, the twins and their brother she had met earlier, had made her feel more comfortable, but they weren't out here.

Maybe she'd be sorted into Gryffindor and could find them later?

* * *

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione's heart was beating far too fast for comfort as she heard her name called in the strident Scots accent. Swallowing with a nerves-dry mouth, she clenched her fists and approached the stool and the wrinkled hat that had actually sung a song not too long ago. Odd, that, but she had learned from Professor McGonagall that the Wizarding World was filled with things she had thought odd as a Muggle.

 _Muggle_. She'd been a regular ten-year-old girl as the summer hols started, but now she was a witch. With a new, ash wood wand that had a magical core made from the heartstring of an actual dragon. _I can do this_.

She climbed up on the stool and the professor settled the hat on her head.

It began to whisper, and she nearly jumped off the stool!

" _Well, a Muggle-born witch, and underaged as well._ "

"Barely," she muttered under her breath, annoyed. She had learned from Professor McGonagall that normally she would have had to wait until the following year to be invited to Hogwarts, but the Headmaster had made an unusual exception in her case. "Aren't you supposed to be sorting me?"

The hat hissed around her head and she thought she felt her hair tickle her ears. She did _not_ flinch that time. " _A brave girl, like a good Gryffindor should be—_ "

"Yes, I read _Hogwarts, A History_ and—"

" _Intelligent, as well, but not just to know things. You want to make them work. Not a team player. And the ambition flaring in your heart! I am quite entertained._ "

Hermione snorted but didn't think out a clear answer to that. The Hat was taunting her, clearly, and she _would_ not respond.

Around the Great Hall arose impatient sounds. Hermione frowned fiercely. What was wrong with her? "Have I quite broken you, then?" she wondered to the wrinkled Hat.

A voice from her right called, "Headmaster?"

"Hat stall?" wondered a girl on the left.

A loud, strained cry: "Oi! Come on, already!"

After a final, hidden chuckle that gave Hermione a case of goosebumps, the Sorting Hat called, "She belongs to Slytherin!"

With a nod, Hermione set her lips and joined the Slytherins at the far table in the Great Hall. No one applauded to see her go there. Indeed, there were incredulous whispers that skated over the tables like ghosts. Among the whispers, though, were a pair of young, surprised, boyish voices.

"Cor! We lost three Galleons!"

She smirked as her robes adopted the green and silver of her House. Fred and George Weasley didn't know everything.

* * *

 **A/N: See you Friday!**


	3. Chapter Two: Mudblood & Mentor

_**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who is following and favoriting and, most of all, reviewing. Some folks have wondered how Hermione would be accepted into the House of Salazar. Would she be taken under someone's wing? Would she have a hard time? _

* * *

**Chapter Two**

 ** _Hogwarts, 2 September 1990_**

Hermione learned a new word before breakfast.

Normally, she enjoyed learning new words. Words were vibrant, they helped her to express herself and to learn how _others_ expressed themselves. Words made pictures that made stories and histories. Words explained things.

Words were also weapons. She knew that. She'd had some mean ones thrown at her over the years. Classmates had called her _Billy no-mates_ the year before, because she didn't have any friends and had been left sitting on her own one year too many, apparently. _Git_ , they said, too, under their breath. They didn't like her much. She answered a lot of questions and did her homework, didn't she? No one liked that. Even the teachers had stopped calling on her during lessons. The children in her last year had called her a _munter_ , which she'd asked her mum about. Her mum had almost withdrawn her from the school, because the teachers said there was nothing they could do about name-calling. "It's not a nice word, I know," Ms. Rogers had said with a frown, "but it isn't like they called her a—" The whisper into Mum's ear went entirely unexplained.

Hermione handled these insults as best she knew how. She might have friends, someday, when she was older, Mum and Dad had said. She intimidated people, but she didn't know how to fix that without feeling like she was pretending. And she might not be very pretty, but Mum told her that she was smart, and she was intuitive, and those things were better than being pretty, anyway, because smart and intuitive would get a girl into university and a good path in life. Dad said that smart was better because he had married a smart woman.

Besides, Mum had whispered one night when Hermione was trying hard not to cry, lots of girls were late bloomers. "Here's a picture of your grandmother when she was a little girl. You look just like her, Hermione." The small paper photograph in its tones of history-book sepias and grays had not been encouraging. Dated 1925, Grandmother Draper had indeed looked much as Hermione had at that age. "And here's her wedding picture, pumpkin." Hermione looked at the woman in the picture and smiled. Grandmother Draper looked so, so happy.

"She's pretty, Mum. You want to smile just seeing how happy she is."

"Exactly. And her husband, my father, was quite a dashing fellow, too. I remember Mum saying that Dad was smitten with her, though, because of something she said to make him laugh. So, see, her brain was still most important. Even though she was pretty."

So, there was hope. Maybe. For the future. But it was her present that had stung Hermione Jean Granger into crying. Privately. Under her pillow in her dorm.

The magical world had its own special insults that seemed to make hope a too-distant thing of her own imagination. The new word she had learned on the first full day at Hogwarts was _Mudblood_.

She had heard it in the Slytherin common room without comprehension, though she knew the sneering tone well enough. That sneer allowed for no misunderstanding.

She didn't know what it meant, though, so she did what she always did when she didn't know something. She went to the Library. The word wasn't in the dictionary, so she had braved the Librarian, a stern-looking woman who presided over the Library from behind a desk that seemed familiar to Hermione. Libraries were the same everywhere, she had supposed.

The name on the desk said IRMA PINCE. "Madam Pince?" she had asked politely.

The woman had a pointed witch's hat very like Professor McGonagall's. Her dark hair was sternly styled, and she regarded Hermione without favor. "Yes? You are?"

"Hermione Granger, ma'am. I was trying to find the definition of a word, but it's not in the dictionary."

"Nonsense. What word is it and I'll show you so we don't have this conversation again."

Bracing herself, Hermione took a breath. "Mudblood."

At first, Madam Pince's expression narrowed, contracting on itself in clear displeasure, but then she studied Hermione carefully, including Hermione's tie, school robes (which she had decided to wear that day in a futile bid to blend in), and clear expression.

Then, the Librarian's face gentled somewhat. "It's a foul term, Miss Granger, used for a Muggle-born. You are one, are you not? A Muggle-born?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"That, that word. Well. There are some in our world who see a Muggle-born as someone inferior. Having nonmagical blood. Dirty blood, even. Which they've decided to call Mudblood as a derogatory term. That means—"

Hermione held up her hand. "I know what derogatory means, Madam Pince. Thank you. I'll remember."

"Who called you this?"

Hermione took a deep breath, her mind racing over past experiences and current happenings, analyzing people and prospects with a speed beyond most girls her age. And she decided to offer half a truth. "It's just a word I heard this morning, ma'am. Thank you for your help."

Mudblood. She would grow inured to it in a matter of days. But _that_ day, she heard it three more times on her way back to her dorm room. It hurt, because there wasn't a thing she could do about her blood, was there? She wouldn't outgrow it. She couldn't outsmart it. And the people who used that word made sure to inform her she would always, always carry it.

* * *

 ** _8 September 1990_**

Hermione's whole body ached when she made herself roll out of bed after having endured one full week of lessons at Hogwarts. It had started predictably enough, she supposed.

"Hey, Mudblood! Watch out!" And then the inevitable trip. Back in primary school, she had at least the opportunity to evade whatever obstacle would be set before her. A quickly moved chair, a foot, a piece of string stretched across her path. But here, in the land of magic, there was nothing like that. Just a whisper and sometimes a flare and then, _Hello, floor!_ or _Where'd that chair come from?_ or _I can't move!_

The House of Salazar Slytherin had been very unwelcoming to a Muggle-born witch.

On her feet, she stretched, all the while keeping an eye on her roommates. There were three others in her room, and she understood that they would be her dorm mates until they all left Hogwarts, several years from now. Hermione herself had the bed farthest from the door; she felt lucky. Next to her was Ilana Shafiq, a pure-blood from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight that Hermione had read of in _Hogwarts, A History_. Ilana was a beauty, even at eleven years of age. Big, almond-shaped eyes of a piercing blue, richly tanned skin, and gleaming black hair. Ilana did not torment Hermione, but rather treated her like lint. This was better than the others, and Hermione was grateful that her nearest neighbor was not inclined to _actively_ hurt her.

Beyond Ilana's bed was Shana Shacklebolt's. "My uncle's an Auror, and he's going to be Minister of Magic someday!" Shana couldn't wait until they had Divination. Hermione thought the girl was full of it. Whatever "it" was. The Auror's niece was tall and thin and full of energy, but she'd occasionally stop what she was doing and stare off into space. Privately, Hermione thought the girl was pretending to have visions. What actually resulted was often painful for Hermione herself. "I foresee you falling down the stairs!"

That happened.

Her final roommate was a girl who was not part of the Old Families, but her own was still wealthy enough to allow her to have the most elegant everyday garments under her robes. "I'm Patrice Urquhart. Pure-blood. Don't speak to me, Muggle-born." Patrice had curly red hair of an unusually deep shade. Darker than the Weasley twins' had been. She looked like a Victorian china doll, all pursed lips and big blue eyes and smooth white hands.

When Hermione forgot Patrice's directive and asked her to pass the potatoes at the second night's evening meal, Patrice—without sparing her a glance—threw the potatoes at her head. "I told you not to talk to me."

Not one person in all of Slytherin House came to Hermione's defense. She wasn't sure what to do about that or whom to turn to. Her mum and dad were so far away, and she had faced bullies before, hadn't she?

There were Prefects, but aside from canceling the random hex that made her unable to move, they did nothing, meeting her frantic, pleading gaze with blank apathy. Her Head of House, Professor Snape, was terrifying. Tall, thin, pale as a ghost, he seemed to dwell only in the dungeons, surfacing for meals on rare occasions. He spoke little, but his words drew blood when he was irritated.

Hermione could only imagine how he felt about a Muggle-born witch being sorted into his House. She certainly hadn't braved his displeasure by seeking him out.

Having stretched to work out the leftover soreness from the prior day's disasters, Hermione retrieved her shower gear as well as her canvas school bag. She didn't want to have to ask a professor to charm spilt ink from her books again, nor did she have the time to repair the straps, or handles, or to mend tears to the fabric. She had essays to write, even if they weren't due yet, and books to read. Never mind that it was Saturday and there were no classes to speak of. A girl still had to study.

Her roommates, however, clearly preferred to have a lie-in. That was fine with her.

Once clean and dressed, her hair plaited into a wet rope on her back, Hermione went down to breakfast with her books in her arms. She didn't dare leave them alone anywhere. The Slytherin table was only about two-thirds full, so she breathed a sigh of relief and headed to the front, nearest the head table. At least no one wanted to be so close to the professors that morning.

"Miss Granger. A word."

Pausing in the act of pouring a glass of pumpkin juice—something she was trying to acquire a taste for, though she missed her mum's juices at home—Hermione blinked up at the black-robed professor. "Me, Professor Snape?" He hadn't said five words to her all the prior week, though she had tried desperately to answer questions. Her hand began to shake from sheer nerves. What did he want from her?

"You. Yes." He beckoned to her with his dark eyes until she rose to her feet, gathered her books, and came to stand in front of him at the head table. He opened his mouth, flickered a gaze about the Great Hall, and then said, "Wait. To my office."

"Now, sir?"

"Now, Miss Granger. Do I appear to have all day?"

 _Well, it is Saturday,_ she wanted to say, but she didn't. Instead, she swallowed back her nerves and followed him, half-jogging to keep up with his long, impatient strides. Down the stone steps to the dungeons, past their common room, and down another corridor.

He stopped before a door that read _Head of House_ on the plaque. "Do you see this sign, Miss Granger?"

Shifting her books in her arms, she nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Do you know whom your Head of House _is_ , Miss Granger?" Derision dripped from his words.

She blushed but didn't look down. She might have been beaten and humiliated over the week, but she wasn't broken yet. "You are, Professor Snape."

"So pleased to know you can read," he remarked with a bored air. "Come in. Let me introduce you to my office." He now spoke as if to a very small child. "This, Miss Granger, is where any student in Slytherin may come to have a word with me when they find themselves in difficulty, among other things."

Tears sprang to her eyes. She hated to feel weak, hated to feel stranded and alone, with possible aid dangling before her only to have it withdrawn with a sneer. Who knew what Professor Snape would do to her? She stiffened her spine and nodded, unable to do more.

He sighed and sat down in one of two chairs in front of his imposing, dark desk. With a wave of his finger, several candles lit on the desk, their flames somehow cheerful. "I don't bite, Miss Granger. I am, oddly enough, inclined to be of service to you."

"Me, sir?"

"And if you breathe a word of it, you'll have detention with Filch for a month of Sundays, do you understand?"

Hope flared in her heart and she nodded, settling her books on her lap. "I do, sir."

"You're not unintelligent, for a first year," her Head of House said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers before his face. "You read. You know causes and effects. You have already produced one legible essay for me and the other professors find you to be . . . promising."

"Thank you, sir."

"Why is it, then, Miss Granger, that you find yourself unable to get through a single day without injury?"

"Sir?" She was not going to tell tales. No. She was not. She would . . . manage. She would.

He sighed again, more loudly, but his tone was remarkably patient when he spoke. "Miss Granger. You are the first Muggle-born to be sorted into my House in more than a century."

"I am?" Pride leapt within her for a moment, but it fell almost as quickly. "That would explain it, perhaps."

"It?"

She blushed and looked down at her books, rearranging them according to the thicknesses of their spines. "Why no one, er, helps me?"

"Hm. Yes, well. Due to circumstances, Miss Granger, I cannot be seen helping you, either. However, by all accounts you can certainly learn to help yourself."

"Sir?"

"I am going to teach you a couple of things to protect yourself, Miss Granger. A shielding charm that you wouldn't be learning for months, yet, as well as a way to quickly repair your book bag." He waved his wand and muttered something Hermione didn't catch, though it sounded like Latin. A book flew from his desk to his hand. "And I am going to give you this. It is a _loan_. I expect it back before winter holidays, do you understand?"

He held it out to her. The cover was a worn blue, with faded gold letters. _Charms of Defence and Deterrence_ by Catullus Spangle. She took it carefully. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. Just . . . endeavor not to break anything. Have you made the acquaintance of Madam Pomfrey?"

Wincing, she said she had. "That was so embarrassing."

"Miss Granger!" She jumped and he gentled his voice again, rising to stand and pace. "For reasons I will never tell you, I want to see you succeed in my House. You will not do so if you fail to remain hale and whole, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir. I'd, I'd like that, as well." And somehow, under his frustrated stare, she smiled.

His lips twitched and Hermione Granger was suddenly absolutely certain he wanted to smile as well.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Next chapter: Lots of George and Fred! Have a good weekend. See you Tuesday!_


	4. Chapter Three: Wandless Appreciation

**A/N:** _By and large, y'all like Snape, as he is interpreted in this story so far. Thank you. He'll be back at some point. As I promised last week, more Fred & George in this chapter. Remember, the lads are only **twelve** at this juncture, all right? _

* * *

**Chapter Three**

 ** _Hogwarts, 19 December 1990_**

"What are you staring at, Freddie?" George wondered as he came in from the Quidditch pitch. He and Fred were back-up Beaters and they had to go to practices, even if they didn't play.

Fred jerked his chin toward the kids carrying the brooms. "That girl who just landed. She's in Hooch's first year class. Remember her?"

"Hooch?"

Fred slapped his brother on the back of his head, knocking off a dusting of snow. " _Granger_. The girl from the train, remember?"

"Oi! Yeah, and?"

"Well, look. I've been keeping an eye on her."

"She cost us three Galleons, remember?"

Fred shook his head and kept his eye on the girl as she dismounted from her broom. "Not her fault. Look, she got here, and you saw how the snakes all went after her, yeah?"

George nodded, remembering, studying the little witchlet as she walked back inside. She walked alone, entirely alone. But then, one of her classmates flung a jinx or something at her feet and it looked as if she might fall on the hard, ice-cold stone. "Damn, what—"

"Look, she didn't fall!"

"Cor, she didn't!" The girl had fallen, a bit, but hadn't hit the bone-breaking stone that made up the walk. "She's just there in midair, like she landed on something soft."

"Yeah. See, she's been doing that, lately."

George raised a teasing brow at his twin. "Been watching the little firstie?"

"Told you I was. I felt sorry for the ickle tyke, in amongst the snakes."

"What do you think she's done, there?"

"Dunno, but something clever, yeah?"

"Yeah."

* * *

"Remember, if you're leaving to go home for the holiday, the carriages will take you down to Hogsmeade at nine in the morning. Do not be late," the Headmaster said before dinner was served.

Hermione nodded and then tucked in to her dinner. She had to return Professor Snape's book that evening and that meant a trip to his office, since he wasn't at the head table. The book was currently in her book bag, tucked between her feet so as not to call attention to itself. She was still perfecting her defensive spells and didn't want to make herself more of a target than she had to.

On her way to Professor Snape's office, she heard the sniggers and whispered voices that meant _threat_ to her highly attuned sensitivity. She kept her wand at the ready and her bag on her shoulder while trying to look untouchable.

"Mudblood," one of the fourth years whispered as she was almost to Professor Snape's office. "You can't see our Head of House unless you pay the Galleon."

"Bugger off," she retorted, straightening her shoulders and wishing her heart wasn't pounding. "I'm here to return something to him before holidays." She winced internally; she'd never use such language at home, but she was under a lot of stress, here.

The older, larger student stood in front of her, his wand negligently as his side. Hermione cast a quick _Protego_ for herself. She had not even heard of it being used in any of her classes and so had gathered that it was not a first year spell. Still she had managed to do it without a lot of what Professor Snape would call "foolish wand waving".

The fourth year wasn't so subtle. With a snap of his wand, he said, " _Steleus!_ "

Hermione just stared at him. She had no idea what that spell was for, but it had no effect on her. She rolled her eyes and moved past the older boy to knock on Professor Snape's door.

"Enter."

She canceled her shield charm and glanced over her shoulder to see her would-be attacker studying his wand as if it had turned into a mushroom.

Professor Snape was standing at one of his many bookshelves, a volume in hand. He didn't look up until the door closed solidly behind her. "Miss Granger."

"Professor. I came to return the book to lent me." She extracted it from her bag and crossed the office to his desk. "Also to thank you, sir. It was very kind of you to—"

"Kindness had nothing to do with it, Miss Granger. Merely a sense of, of paying a debt owed, as it were."

"Sir?"

He shook his head and replaced the book he'd been holding. "Never mind. So. Studied all the spells, have you?"

"Yes, sir, and I've been able to use ever so many." She smiled in relief. "Not nearly so many bumps and bruises, now."

Turning to her at last, Professor Snape moved to sit on the edge of his desk, studying her all the while. She felt edgy under his scrutiny, but tried not to fidget. He had shown her kindness—whether or not he admitted it—and she would try to be polite, trusting that he bore her no ill will.

She met his eyes after a minute, not wanting to appear timid, and found his gaze direct, but not frightening. How had she ever thought him anything but stern and just? He wasn't mean, not really. He was a perfectionist, however, and—

"Miss Granger."

"Yes, sir?"

"Were you planning on staying all night?"

Blinking, Hermione took a breath, surprised to find that her feet seemed to have fallen asleep while she was standing there. _How long was I standing, anyway?_ she mused, kicking her feet in small motions, one at a time. "Pardon me, sir. My mind must have wandered."

"Indeed." He arched a brow. "You're going home for the holiday, are you not?"

Forgetting about her wandering thoughts, she nodded briskly. "I am, sir."

"Fine. No magic whilst you are away from school, remember." He rose to his feet and put the spell book he had loaned her away. "Your wand has the Trace on it until you're seventeen."

When had he taken the book from her? She couldn't remember.

"I won't, sir. Happy Christmas, Professor, and thank you again for the loan of the book."

"Mmph."

She smiled to herself and turned to the door. He sounded as he always did between classes, so surely there was nothing wrong with him.

"Wait. Miss Granger. I'll see you out." He was opening the door for her in a moment, peering into the hallway with a disdainful curl to his mouth. "I have to check the potions in the Infirmary. I'll walk you out."

She didn't see anyone, but heard a scrambling of many feet rushing past them in the corridor. Alarmed, Hermione involuntarily gripped her Head of House's sleeve. "Sir? What was that?"

"What was what, Miss Granger?"

"Those rushing steps."

"Troublemaking ghosts, I daresay. Come, Miss Granger."

They met no one on their way out of the dungeons and Hermione didn't know to look at her professor's face for tell-tale signs of wry amusement. And she certainly didn't know how to detect nonverbal, wandless spellcasting.

* * *

She was jostled getting to a compartment near the rear of the Hogwarts Express. Jostled and bumped and bruised, but she wasn't allowed to do magic, so Hermione resigned herself to being tripped and hit with flying objects on the way to an empty compartment.

Did the no-magic rule just apply to first years? Or were others breaking the rules? Or were they actually not using magic? Well, no, Professor Snape reminded her about the Trace on her wand.

The notion of a Trace unsettled her but she decided she could, perhaps, try to practice a shield charm _without_ her wand if she was left alone on the ride down to London. Then, maybe no one could bother her at all.

"Ah!" she said in a whisper. Darting a quick look about, she dragged her trunk into the empty compartment. This one had red upholstery and the windows looked like they'd been freshly cleaned, so that was something. The lingering scent of vinegar wafted from the window itself, so she guessed it had been cleaned without magic. She hefted her trunk to the rack over the seats and smiled. She'd grown a bit in the last few months, so she had.

Settling on a seat, she stared at the door and wondered if she could make it close and not open for anyone. She tried to remember her Latin, for she had taken an enrichment course in Primary School. Without using her wand, she muttered, " _Claude ostium_!" to see if that would work.

"Sorry, Granger."

"We've never heard that one, before."

She jumped when the red-headed duo shoved themselves into the open door, each one leaning on a side of the frame. "What? What do you mean?" she stammered. She studied them as well, trying to find the different detail in their faces she thought she had found back in September.

She couldn't, but she hid her frustration and vowed not to call either of them by name unless it was a nickname that hid her ignorance.

"You're trying to do something—"

"Cor, Fred, she was trying it without her wand!" the one she thought was George whispered in loud delight.

"What. You two think you can ignore me for months and then show up here and—"

The one she thought was Fred plopped down on the bench across from her. His twin shoved their trunk into the compartment and the two of them hoisted it to the rack overhead.

Frustration and irritation made her sigh sound more like a growl. "Would you stop? What are you doing here?"

The boys answered in rapid-fire, divided sentences. She clearly wasn't supposed to learn anything about who was who, so she settled in to just listen to their words and figure _them_ out after.

"Well, see, there's not a lot of room."

"Short a car, you see."

"So we thought, seeing as how you got sorted—"

"Lost us three Galleons, as well!"

"Outside of our House and into the Snake Pit—"

"Hey!" she protested, jumping to her feet.

The nearest one pushed her back down. "Lost us _three_ _Galleons_!"

"You said that."

"So we thought that—"

"We could sit with you."

"No one from your House ever talks to anyone from mine," she said when they finally stopped talking. "Don't want the golden lions to get _poisoned_ , do you?"

They shrugged. "Way we figure," the one on her right said with a look out the open door, "you're pretty good with defensive spells, yeah?"

She blushed and clutched her Transfiguration text close to her chest. "I can stop you, if you try something stupid," she warned them. "I've stopped older and better wizards." She stared at them, watching for the danger signs. For tiny motions of their eyebrows, for the hint of crossed glances, for a nudge in a rib. Anything that could be a signal betwixt the two of them.

But there was nothing. They merely grinned broadly at her, as if they hadn't a thought of harming her. She didn't trust them entirely, but she decided she _could_ sit with them.

"So, how did you know about, about the defensive spells?" She kept her voice low in case anyone was eavesdropping outside the compartment.

She'd been expecting almost any answer, she supposed later. From stealing her books when she was in the loo to wearing a cloak of invisibility to her Head of House's office, to perhaps something that might have been said by _their_ Head of House—what did she know about administrative politics?—she didn't think their answer would surprise her.

But their red, red faces absolutely did.

And then they got up.

And _then_ they looked like they were going to leave the compartment.

And she decided that _couldn't_ happen so she thought strongly of wanting an impenetrable shield across the open door in her desperation to not let them leave her alone, not when she didn't know why they were blushing so much.

"Bloody."

"Hell!"

Their red faces paled into their normal, freckled skin and they dropped to their knees right in front of her. "Granger," the one she was pretty sure was George, due to the finally remembered aberration in his left eyebrow, whispered. "That was wandless."

"And I didn't hear you say a damned thing," Fred said with an awed rasp.

Her jaw dropped and her stomach tensed in fear. "Oh, no. I mean, I don't want to get in trouble. Don't say anything, okay?"

"I swear upon my magic," the boys said in unison.

She nodded and blew out a breath. "I didn't mean to do it. Did you get hurt?"

They laughed then, and fell back on their rumps on the floor of the compartment. "As if we'd notice that. No," Fred said. "No."

"We're all good."

"Fine, then. So?"

"So what?"

She blew a stray bundle of curls out of her face and tried to sit more comfortably while the boys continued to lounge at her feet. "So how'd you know about the defensive stuff?"

"Er, just saw you not fall, is all," George murmured, drawing his legs to his chest and staring at his knees.

Why would _that_ make the two of them blush so deeply? Hermione had no idea, but decided that these two boys might, maybe, be friends for her and she didn't want to drive them away. At least they'd never hexed her or made her fall or look stupid.

So she didn't ask again. Instead, she just nodded and thought very hard at the door for the shield to go away. "Well. I, er, found a book," she said, lying a little, but she was fairly certain Professor Snape would not want anyone—especially not Gryffindors—to know he had lent her a book with advanced spells. "And it helped and now I don't have so much trouble in my House. It's, it's like in university, you know," she went on, lying even more so that she wouldn't betray her House. "First years have to keep a step ahead."

The twins seemed to have composed themselves by then and they shifted to take their seats on the bench opposite. The silence was getting a little awkward until another redhead planted himself in the open door of their compartment. He didn't even seem to see her, but focused entirely on the boys. "I've been looking all over for you."

"We're here and we're fine, Perce," Fred said, doing a big show of relaxing with his legs stretched out a bit in front of him. They didn't stretch far, Hermione noted, but she imagined a few years would fix that. "So run along with your friends from the Library."

The older boy snorted. "I had to make sure you actually boarded on time, this year. I promised Mum."

"One time. _One_. _Time_." George stood up, arms out so they were parallel to the floor. "I promised not to miss the train again."

The older boy crossed his arms in front of his chest. "See that you don't." Then, he seemed to notice Hermione and he turned, a look of disdain on his features. "Are they bothering you?" he inquired as if he had to, not as if he wished to know. If he was the twins' big brother, as seemed more than likely, he was a Gryffindor as well, and he probably wanted nothing to do with her.

So she made him. Extending her hand, she came to stand close enough to shake his. "Hermione Granger, Slytherin. And you are?"

Blushing seemed to come easily to this family. His cheeks heated and he frowned before shaking her hand briefly. Not like a limp fish, but like a man, she supposed. Her father shook hands like that. "Percy Weasley. Fourth year. Gryffindor. Are they bothering you?" he asked again.

"Not at all. We were discussing defense."

He made a noncommittal sort of sound before turning back to his brothers. "Remember, not too much from the Trolley, and don't dash off once we reach London."

"Yes, Percy. Whatever you say, Percy," Fred and George said in unison again, sounding bored.

Percy shook his head. "I'll leave you then. Don't embarrass me."

Hermione could hardly hold back her laughter as the older Weasley boy turned to go. "Does he have a twin as well?" she asked.

Fred and George roared with laughter. "No, no! I can't even imagine it! No!"

The trip home was quite pleasant after that.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** What happens with the shield is something I tend to think of as focused, quasi-accidental magic. She wanted what happened, but she didn't really know it would work in the way she made it manifest. However, it is clear that Hermione is a witch of uncommon ability, and she will grow more disciplined as she matures. See you Friday!_


	5. Chapter Four: The Potter Kid

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading, adding this story to their lists, and special thanks to those who leave me notes! :)**

 _To the guest who had the whole Salazar Slytherin bloodline idea: Sounds like fun! Write it! :) This Hermione, though, won't be needing a basilisk to gain respect. ;-)_

 _Remember, Readers all, that Our Heroes are, as yet, not even in their teens as we begin this chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 ** _17 January 1991_**

"Why are you ignoring me?" Hermione demanded of George shortly after they got into the usual patterns after winter holidays. "I thought—"

He dashed a look around at the corridor and grabbed her elbow. She pressed her lips closed against an, "Ow!" because she could tell he didn't want anyone to see them together and if she had protested as loudly as she wished, she would have drawn attention to them.

That he didn't want anyone to see them hurt her chest, making it twist inside so hard that her lips trembled, but she mastered the reaction by the time he got them in an empty room on the first floor. "George," she hissed, jerking her arm out of his grasp. "Tell me!"

"Wait, how'd you know—?"

She rolled her eyes. "Tell me why you two are ignoring me."

He scratched at the back of his neck and pulled on his scarlet and gold tie. "You're in Slytherin. We're in Gryffindor. It's, like, we can't, here."

"Can't what?"

"We're not even in the same year, Granger," the boy said, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. "We don't have the same classes and it, it looks bad."

At first, tears burned in her eyes. The twins were possibly her only friends—she had thought—in this whole school and they thought it was a bad thing? "Because I'm in Slytherin? Or because I'm in first year?"

"Slytherin," he said in a calm voice. "We'd bet you'd be sorted into our House, you know. And then, we could be friends, yeah?"

"But I'm not." She eyed her green and silver tie. "I'm proud to be the only Muggle-born sorted into Slytherin in over a century. I am."

He nodded, but looked as if something had crawled down his jumper. "Doesn't anyone in your House, I don't know, _care_ if you're friends with us?"

"No! No one cares." No one cared because none of them talked to her anyway, unless they had to for class or a House meeting in the common room. George didn't need to know that. "I thought you lot were supposed to be brave and daring," she said with a sneer as she turned to go. "But I guess not. I won't bother you again."

"Granger, wait!"

She stopped, but she wanted to cry so much, because it hurt so _very_ much, that she didn't turn around. "What."

"They'll care. Someday. You wait. You're—"

His voice broke and that got her to turn around, blinking back any tears that threatened. "I'm what?" she whispered, seeing his face all drawn and pale. He looked as bad as she felt, and that made her want to hug him until they both felt better.

But he'd probably push her away, she figured, so she didn't do that.

"You're, you're, so smart, you know? And they'll pay attention. They won't be able not to."

The compliment made her melt inside, but she tried not to let it show because he didn't want to be friends with her now, did he? "Does Fred feel the same way?"

"Yeah, he just couldn't be here. He had to see McGonagall."

Since he had said something nice about her, she felt it was her turn to do the same, even if he never spoke to her again. "You and Fred are pretty quick, as well," she told him. "And someday," she added, trying to strengthen her throat against her voice breaking, "Someday you won't care what they say because your own opinions will be most important and, and you'll do it your own way, not theirs!"

She turned, then, and fled from the room.

* * *

 ** _1 September 1991_**

This year, it was her mum that dropped her off at King's Cross Station. "I want to go early," Hermione told her parents the night before, "to make sure that I get a good seat. It's really crowded on the trip up."

"Do you have enough money? Gallicks? What are they?" Mum cupped her chin and stared hard into her eyes as if looking for secrets.

"Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, Mum. Thank you and Dad so much for setting me up with my own Gringotts account."

Her mother's cinnamon brown eyes—just like Hermione's own—warmed with her smile. "You're a responsible girl, pumpkin. We know you're to be trusted with it."

"Love you," Hermione said before pulling her mother into a long embrace. "I'll miss you."

"See you at Christmas, pumpkin. And then, we'll talk about a summer holiday, all right? We're thinking maybe France."

"France? Brilliant! I've always wanted to go!"

Grinning to match her daughter, Emma Granger nodded and dropped a kiss on Hermione's forehead. "I know. We'll talk about it over the spring holiday, okay?"

"Okay. Bye, Mum!"

Feeling much more confident this year over last, she moved amongst the twisting lines of people, both Muggle and Magical. She had wanted to be early not just to get a good seat on the Hogwarts Express, but also to miss having to see the Weasley twins arrive.

Their rejection of her had cut her deeper than she would have thought, but she respected it, especially as the year rolled on and she found herself subject to more complex pranks and hexes that she had to learn to defend herself against. She paid closer attention, as well, to what was said about the Gryffindors and realized that her torment could have been worse if she and Fred and George had been able to be friends openly.

Well, maybe she could find a friend this year. Someone she _could_ acknowledge openly. It could happen.

Pushing her trunk ahead of her, she made her way toward Platform 9 3/4. But she stopped when she saw a young boy there who looked as lost as she had felt the year before.

"Hey," she said, sidling up next to him. He was undersized for an eleven-year-old, she guessed, and he wore round glasses on a rather nice nose. His hair looked like it had never met a comb, but she forgot all of that when he looked into her eyes.

His were green, greener than Christmas. "Hello," he said quietly. Looking around at her trunk and the others, he asked, "Do you happen to know where this is?"

He produced a Hogwarts Express ticket from his saggy trouser pocket. Hermione nodded at it. "I do. Who's this?" she asked with a nod to the intelligent looking snowy owl the boy carried with him. She was in a large cage with fresh paper lining the bottom.

"She's Hedwig, and I'm Harry."

Hermione chuckled, wanting to make him feel at ease a little. He was obviously not a pure-blood, so he likely wouldn't be condescending. "My name starts with an H, as well. I'm Hermione. C'mon. I'll show you how to get through to the train."

She pushed her trunk through the wall at the designated place, and waited anxiously for the boy to follow. In only a couple of heartbeats, he was there, beaming with amazement. "That was, was—"

"Like magic, right? I know!"

"You're not in first year, are you, Hermione?" Harry asked hopefully as she led the way to the nearest boarding steps.

"No, sorry, Harry. Second year."

"So that's how you know all of this."

"Yes. And I met two boys who helped get me to a compartment on my first ride up," she said as they hoisted their trunks and gear up the steps, "so I thought I'd return the favor this year."

The owl made a pleased hooting sound, and Hermione smiled at it before turning to take on the main passage of the car. "So, you really have to pretend like you own the floor when you try to take your luggage through here. Just ignore everyone and act like you own it." She suited actions to words and, though she was only eleven (for less than three more weeks, thanks so much) and was not very tall, her manner was such that everyone cleared out of her way as she and Harry passed through.

Finally, they found an empty compartment on the right. "Here. Room enough for you and Hedwig," she declared, checking inside to make sure it was indeed empty.

She was about to chat with him to get acquainted when she heard a familiar voice calling down the passage. "Ron! Come on. You're supposed to sit with Fred and George this first trip."

"But I have to find him! I have to find Harry Potter!"

Hermione cringed and then sighed. "Are you Harry Potter?" she asked softly.

The boy with the glasses nodded, pushing back the fringe on his forehead to reveal a jagged scar that looked like lightning did when it flared in the sky. All at once it clicked for her. That it had was evidently clear on her face because Harry grimaced and fell back into the cushion, looking dejected.

"I'm sorry," she offered with half a smile. "Must be hard to have to do this alone."

He stared at her, a curious light in his eye. "Yeah. It is."

Hedwig fluffed her feathers and Harry turned to soothe his owl. Hermione was content, as well, for she didn't want to irritate someone so famous, but she had a bunch of questions. Still, she could re-read her History of Magic texts and perhaps next time she saw him, she'd be able to sound less like someone trying to find an autograph and more like someone concerned for him.

Because she was.

More voices shouted down the corridor and, this time, Hermione swore under her breath. Not quietly enough, though, because Harry darted a sharp look in her direction.

"Hermione?"

"'Sokay," she said with a sigh. "They're probably looking for you. They certainly wouldn't be looking for _me_."

Just as the sound of her voice died away, four redheads showed up and almost fell through the open door. "Granger!" Fred and George blurted, their faces red with a blush.

"Fred. George." Behind them, their elder brother—a Prefect badge already displayed on his school robes—cleared his throat. "Percy Weasley, hello."

"And me!" the newest addition demanded, pushing through so that he stood in front of the twins. "I'm Ron."

Hermione remembered her manners and stood, prepared to do what was right. "Harry, this is the Weasley family. There with the robes on is Percy, who looks to be a Prefect for Gryffindor. And this is Fred and that's George. They're in third year. And I'm guessing this is Ron, who has to be a first year like you, because I've never met him before." Taking a breath, she met Fred's eyes directly, then George's. "And this is Harry Potter, and his lovely owl, Hedwig."

Harry nodded cautiously at the newcomers before saying her name. "Hermione? Aren't you in their House, as well? You kept referring to it like it wasn't yours."

She smiled, feeling both proud and sad, for she had a feeling that her hopes for a new friend were about to disappear. "No. I'm the only Muggle-born to have been sorted into Slytherin in over a century. But you'd be welcome there, Harry. I'm sure of it."

"A Slytherin!" Ron spat and looked as if she had grown tentacles from her nose. "You were talking with one of _them_?"

Fred slapped his hand over his little brother's mouth. "Ron! Stop it!"

"You're embarrassing all of us," George snapped at him, throwing Hermione a silent apology.

"She got the best marks of her year, Ronald," Percy added, much to Hermione's surprise. When she caught his gaze, he shrugged with a sheepish smile. "Everyone knows."

She smiled crookedly. "Well, thanks. I try."

There was an awkward silence, after that. Hermione didn't know if she should take her seat again and wait for the Weasleys to go away, try to make stilted small talk with George and Fred, or leave so they could converse without her in the compartment.

She tore her focus from the twins and studied the green-eyed boy. "Harry? You all right?" He'd been quiet, irritated, and overwhelmed, she thought.

He nodded. "Yeah, thanks. You going to sit down again or . . . ?"

She thought he looked uncertain, as if she wouldn't want to stay. "Sure. So, Ron, why were you looking for Harry?"

* * *

"You have to stay with your brother," Percy told Fred and George as they got off the train in Hogsmeade. "Get him to the boats. Both of you. So he doesn't run off."

"He'll be fine, Perce," Fred started to say.

"He'll stay with that Potter kid. He seems a sensible sort."

"Just do it. I have to go make sure the rest of the students get sorted."

Fred and George called out, "That's what the Hat's for!" They both winked at Hermione, who blinked back before she took off after the first years. She obviously remembered that awkward moment from last year.

The Prefect shook his head. "Shut it, you."

Fred tugged at his tie. "So."

"Yeah. Let's go."

"All right."

They caught up to Ron, who was indeed talking with Potter. They needn't have worried, though. Granger was there as well, making sure that the Boy-Who-Lived found his way to the boats.

"You said she was crying," Fred murmured to his twin. Their steps slowed and they spoke under the booming call from the groundskeeper, Hagrid, who always took the first years to the castle.

"Last year, yeah. She didn't let it show, but she was."

"Well, bloody hell. I hate that."

"Not my favorite, either."

"And you said that _she_ said that _we_ —"

"Would make our own decisions someday."

"Girl has bollocks, don't she?"

"Yeah. Big ones."

The boys laughed. It was a defeated sound, but still, they laughed because they were the lions and a snake was possibly more brave and daring than they'd ever been before.

George nudged his brother with one shoulder. "Think she's right?"

"Hope so."

"So do I."

"Yeah."

The sun was low in the sky as the twins saw Ron get into one of the small craft that would take them to the castle. Ron rode with Harry Potter and two other boys, one being Neville Longbottom.

"Did our duty," Fred said with a nod.

"Bet all the carriages are full," George remarked as they trudged up to where the horseless carriages stood, sometimes shuffling, sometimes rocking as students got a bit rambunctious as they waited.

"Look, I don't see any feet in that one," Fred said with something like excitement in his voice. "Hurry!" They ran together at exactly the same pace, even their steps alike as they tore up the rise to the carriage of their choice. Determined to get in and shut the door to it, they all but flew through the door, landing on the floor in a heap, laughing at their own ridiculous entrance.

The door closed and it was only then that they saw the carriage _wasn't_ empty. "Honestly. There's any number of carriages and you choose this one?"

"Granger?"

She'd been curled up on one side of the carriage, her feet on the seat. "Yes. Don't worry. I won't make you talk to me. Then, when everyone," she sneered that word with Slytherin perfection, "sees that you were stuck with me, you can assure them that no words were exchanged and you ignored me in all your dashing Gryffindor _bravery_."

The lights within and without the carriage lit all at once, up and down the line, and George could see the flat apathy in Granger's eyes and it made him feel tremendously guilty, though he hadn't said a word.

Fred, who had been studying their Slytherin carriage mate, perked up and settled onto the bench opposite hers. "Or we could lie."

"Pardon?" George spoke the word at the same time as Granger, which made him laugh and made her shake her head so that wild brown hair partially covered her face.

"We could lie. I still want to know about the defensive spells you learned, Granger, and we could tell you some of our pranks, so it'd be a fair exchange. Does anyone prank in the dungeons?" Fred caught George's eye. "She could teach us how she did that cushioning charm."

"What kind of pranks do you know? That you think I could do?" Granger asked, head cocked and as skeptical as any girl ever.

George snorted. "Really, Granger? You? I told you you were smart, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah."

"And we've seen you in action." He and Fred shared a look. "No worries, there."

"So, show me."

"Even trade!" Fred insisted.

She cocked one brow and looked just like Snape the Git for a moment. "Who decides what's fair?"

"You," George said immediately, still feeling guilty over how upset they'd made her in January.

"Fine."

Fred and George took turns at trying to learn some of the charms and one of the shields that she knew. They practiced the wand motions without their wands, but thought they'd do all right when they could practice for real in the castle. But the best part, for both of them, was seeing how Granger relaxed as they rode up to Hogwarts.

"And see? When you fall, you won't make it all the way to the ground if you can cast fast enough," she told them with a light in her brown eyes that made both boys smile.

"D'you think we could use that charm on something? You know, like a vest or even something to wear under a man's trousers or something?"

"Whatever for?" she asked, looking puzzled but not angry.

"Like, for skating or something," George explained. "A charmed bit of, of underwear, maybe, so that if a skater fell, they'd land on air instead of getting hurt."

At the idea, Granger leaned forward, an eager light seeming to make the carriage even brighter than it had been. Her words came fast, surrounded by a smile that Fred found captivating. "Like having portable magic! D'you think Muggles could use it? Like my mum and dad?"

"I don't see why not, but, but we should probably try it out a lot on ourselves, first."

Granger nodded and leaned back in the seat. "Yeah. Could be scary, otherwise, and they'd have no way of defending themselves. But then," she went on again, that excited rise in her voice making the boys smile once more, "we could use it, right?"

"We?" they asked in unison, wondering what she was getting at.

"Magic that isn't _performing_ magic, right? So we wouldn't be _doing magic_ away from school when we're underaged! That'd be brilliant."

"Cor! It would!" Fred felt his jaw drop as he stared at the girl across from them. "That is the most brilliant thing I've heard since, since I don't know when, Granger."

"Downright Slytherin of you," George added. He smiled and leaned forward to tap her on her knee when she started to lose that excited sparkle in her eye. "That can be a good thing, yeah?"

"Hmph. _Now_ you say so." With a resigned tone, she jerked her thumb toward the window. "You won't be saying so in a minute, will you?"

"Granger," Fred said as the truth of her words hit him and made him think uncomfortable thoughts. "We're really—"

"No, I get it." She smiled, but her eyes were cynical rather than energized. "Slytherin, you see, teaches practicality. We are careful, in my House. We watch and we listen and we do what works. Being friends with you? That wouldn't work. At least . . ."

"At least what?" George wondered.

"At least not yet." The carriages rolled to a stop and, one by one, emptied of their passengers. Granger smoothed her school robe, straightened her green and silver tie, and picked up a small school bag. "Bye."

"Granger?" Fred whispered as she started to step down to the ground.

"What?" She didn't even turn to look at them, merely tugging her robe straight again.

Fred inhaled fast and hard. "Can we talk some more on the train to London?"

George stared at him but didn't nix the idea.

Granger merely said, "We'll see."

* * *

Harry Potter stood with the other first years, clustered near the head table in the Great Hall. Hermione smiled a little from her seat at the far end of the Slytherin table; the firsties were so small! _Was I that short last year? I guess I was._

She recognized Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, and of course, Harry Potter. There was zero possibility that Longbottom or Weasley would be sorted into Slytherin, but she had hopes for Harry. _He_ hadn't looked horrified to find she wore a green and silver tie.

"Potter, Harry!"

The bespectacled boy dashed a quick look about and, meeting her encouraging gaze, he smiled a little and she smiled back. He settled himself on the stool and Professor McGonagall plopped the Sorting Hat on his head. It slid down and half-covered Harry's eyes, before the wrinkles started shifting about.

Hermione clenched her fist. The same thing had happened to her. Maybe this was a good sign. A sign that Harry Potter would come to Slytherin! Her heart pounded in anticipation. She should have bet the twins three Galleons to give them a chance to lose some more money.

"Better be Gryffindor!"

"No!" she whispered as the entire scarlet and gold table cheered to the candle-bedecked ceiling. She darted a look to her Head of House, to see what he thought of it all, and was surprised to find Professor Snape appearing thoughtful.

But only for a moment. The usual disdainful sneer that he wore in the Great Hall was back in view in another heartbeat.

 _This is going to be a long year_.

* * *

 _A/N: Next time, there's a troll in the castle... Oh wait, you knew that, right? :D Have a great weekend!_


	6. Chapter Five: The Twins Have an Idea

A/N: _Hats off to_ **twztdwildcat** _who tapped the first triple-digit review for this story with #100. Thank you!_

Okay. So. I decided to post this on Hallowe'en, as it includes, gasp, Hallowe'en, 1991. I know. It surprised me, too.

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

 ** _13 October 1991_**

Once again, her dorm mates were having a lie-in. Hermione warded her bed with the strongest Imperturbable Charm she had discovered in her research. It was a spell that allowed her to target a thing or group of things to have a magical barrier placed around it.

No one messed with her books anymore.

Still, in the common room, she threw up a _Protego_. Wandless and wordless. Such a spell had made it so that she could successfully reach the floor on her feet instead of on her head. One of the first years, a platinum blond boy named Draco Malfoy, eyed her with disdain that seemed ridiculous.

"So, Mudblood. How'd you get in our House?"

She bit back her instinctive wish to hurl a charm at him that would turn his hair scarlet as a Gryffindor scarf. "Sorting Hat, same as you, Malfoy. And it's _Granger_."

He pursed his lips in an arrogant manner and moved to stand right in front of her. As if that would keep her from moving beyond him. "Everyone says you're smart. I think it's a sham."

That sparked her pride, but she really didn't want to see what the little pure-blood tyrant could do with his wand, so she swallowed back her temper. "You're entitled to an opinion. Opinions are like bums, you know. We've all got one, but showing them off all the time is crass."

He sputtered at her observation, but that enabled her to shove him aside with her shoulder and move on. She kept her shield active.

* * *

 ** _31 October 1991_**

"Troll in the dungeon! There's a troll in the dungeon!" Professor Quirrell panted as he ran up to the Head Table at the Hallowe'en Feast. "I thought you ought to know," he said.

And then, he fainted.

A stone-hard silence fell into the Great Hall. When it broke, there was a mad rush to get everyone to safety. Despite the fact that Harry Potter had been sorted into Gryffindor, Hermione still felt rather concerned for him, so when he dashed off, she followed. After all, she knew more ways of keeping a body safe than he did, she was pretty sure.

Wand out, she pelted after the first year, rounding a corner and watching as Potter stopped. She reached his side. "Hey."

Panting, he held up his hand. "D'you hear it?"

A grinding sound reached her ears and she guessed that was how he knew where to go. "Yeah. Girls' toilet."

Potter curled his face up in distaste, but he nodded. "Okay."

"Hey, Harry!"

Fred and George's little brother, Ron, showed up as they reached the toilet. He was out of breath, but he had his wand out and looked ready to, well, do _something_ anyway.

"There! There it is!" Harry called. "Hey!"

Ron leapt past Harry as if he could take on the monster all by himself. "Oi!" Ron shouted, waving his wand. "What're you doing here? How the bloody hell did you get in Hogwarts?"

As if a troll could talk?

It had a tiny head on an enormous, massively muscled body. It snuffled and then hefted its club and roared, making even the water pipes rattle with the noise of its voice.

" _Incendio_!" Potter shouted.

The fire-making spell had no effect on the huge creature, but Hermione thought maybe it was the right thing to try again. "All of us. C'mon, now. One, two, three—"

" _Incendio_!"

The troll's vest caught fire! He roared in anger and swung his club anyway, though, and Hermione thought only of her shield. Tackling both of the boys like a rugby star, she gripped her wand and affected the most powerful spell for a shield that she'd ever read about. " _Protego Maxima_!" she shouted over both boys and herself.

She didn't remember what happened after that, but she woke up in the Hospital Wing with both Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey bending over her bed. "Miss Granger?"

Blinking rapidly to get the heaviness out of her eyes, she nodded slowly. Her speech was a bit slurred when she asked, "How's Harry Potter?" She knew he was famous, and she would have _hated_ to be known forever as the Girl-Who-Let-the-Boy-Who-Lived- _Die_.

The matron rolled her eyes. "Oh, he's fine. Not a scratch, for all he was so foolish as to take off after a troll. And before you ask, Mr. Weasley is just fine as well. His brothers were in here, earlier, to check on _you_ , Miss Granger."

She snorted, feeling sluggish and stupid. "What, in front of everyone? That's a first."

Her Head of House cocked his head. "Miss Granger. The boys from Gryffindor say that you cast a shield over all three of you."

"Yes, sir?" She wasn't sure if that was allowed or not. "But it was a life or death situation, Professor, and we're allowed to do magic at school, right? Just not in the corridors." She thought she saw the dour Potions Master's lips twitch and that made her almost smile, herself. Relaxing, Hermione tried to sit up, but found that her body was almost entirely enervated. "So. Why am I still here?"

"You did a fine job of protecting the boys, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey assured her.

Professor Snape didn't sound so sanguine, however. "You're here, Miss Granger, because in your unwillingness to behave in an intelligent manner like the rest of our House, you ran off without an adult into a gravely dangerous situation, in which you drained your magic. What spell did you use?"

So much for making her Head of House smile, Hermione thought. She darted a glance to the matron and tried to communicate to Professor Snape that this might be a problem to confess to.

He merely lifted one brow. "Well?"

She puffed out a breath and squirmed uncomfortably under the lavender-scented sheets. "A _Protego_ , Professor Snape. _Protego Maxima_."

Both raven brows rose at that. He really appeared quite startled. "Really? Miss Granger . . . How did you learn that?"

She tried not to cringe before him, but she really had exhausted herself and couldn't seem to control the automatic response. "Research. Sorry?"

Madam Pomfrey snorted. "No apologies needed, Miss Granger."

"I'm her Head of House, Poppy. I'll decide if she should apologize for behaving in such an impetuous manner and taxing her magic in so doing."

"Oh, honestly, Severus!" And the matron tossed up her hands and stalked off. "I'll get her some more Sleeping Draught. You can administer it with the restorative potion after you've discussed this with your student."

"Fine."

Tensing in trepidation, Hermione watched Professor Snape murmur something under his breath while making a slight motion with his fingers. "There, now we have some privacy."

"Sir?" As far as she could tell, he hadn't done anything to add to their privacy. He hadn't even drawn the curtain around her bed.

"A spell I designed. Its purpose is to disguise the speech in a small space so that anyone listening in cannot distinguish what is being said. It's called _Muffliato_ ," he added after a moment. "You use the word as an incantation and make a subtle movement with your hand, like this."

He was showing her something not in _any_ of her classes so far, so Hermione was once again feeling better about herself and wasn't anticipating any disciplinary action. "Like this, sir? No silly wand-waving?" she asked with a daring bit of cheek. She felt safe using it, because Professor Snape was the only one in her House who seemed to be actively concerned about her welfare. And where it might be his job, his job did not entail teaching her extracurricular spells!

And then, the pale man who had seemed to have no muscles with which to execute a regular smile did the impossible. He _grinned_ at her. Only for an instant; if she had been yawning with closed eyes, she would have missed it. But he did. "Indeed. Show me."

She did as he did and he nodded his approval. "It will do. Now. You are clearly in need of some more advanced personal defense. When you are released from Madam Pomfrey's care, come to my office."

"Yes, sir!"

She was given her potions and Professor Snape went away.

* * *

"Granger? Hey, Granger?"

It was dark, save for the slice of moonlight that painted the stone floor next to her bed. Her head felt funny. _Maybe I'm dreaming?_ she thought, seeing as how she saw no one, but heard her name clearly.

"Granger?"

Then, two heads popped up in the shadowed triangle between the moonlight and her pillow. "Weasleys?"

"You're awake!" One of them exclaimed softly. She couldn't tell which, as the tell-tale eyebrows were in shadow. She could have cast a _Lumos_ , she supposed, but it would give their presence away and Hermione really didn't want to do that. "We just wanted to thank you, you know."

"For saving our git of a brother."

"And not getting killed in the process."

"Dumbledore was impressed. Told everyone at dinner how brilliant you were."

"And Ron and Harry, Fred, don't forget."

Ah, now she knew who was who. "George." The proper twin jerked his head in surprise and she suppressed a smug smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Told you, Granger. To thank you."

Fred nodded, his eyes wide. "Did you _really_ cast a _Protego Maxima_? That's what Ron and Harry said."

Unsure if she should answer, she played it safe and just looked at them. That way, there was no lying but neither was she telling secrets that she should, perhaps, keep quiet about. Professor Snape's demeanor seemed to indicate that discretion was the word of the day.

Fred rolled his eyes and George tugged on a lock of her hair that was on the pillow. "C'mon, you can tell us."

"You don't talk to me all year and now you want to discuss this?"

Both the boys shifted with obvious discomfort. "You know why."

"I do. And I'm supposed to be sleeping and it's after curfew. You should go. Don't want to get into trouble talking to a Slytherin, do you?"

George grinned, surprising her. "Tonight? I think it'd be okay."

"Really?" She didn't believe that for a moment.

"Truly. So?"

"Not telling. I need to sleep or they won't let me back to classes tomorrow. Go to bed, boys."

Madam Pomfrey's office door opened, sending a soft light into the main room of the Infirmary. Hermione expected the Weasley twins to duck under her bed and hide until the matron had come out and checked on her, but she was in for a surprise for those boys hopped up to stand right next to her bed. "Madam Pomfrey!"

"Our favorite matron!"

"Better than anyone at St. Mungo's!"

Hermione couldn't help her laughter. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the different potions she had taken in the past several hours. Maybe it was the impudent looks under the ginger fringe on two identical faces. Maybe it was the expression of exasperated affection on Madam Pomfrey's visage.

"Granger! She can laugh!"

"Shocking!"

"Boys!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed at low volume. "To bed with you. It's after curfew."

"We had to come thank the heroine of the day."

"Honestly," Hermione protested. "I _told_ them to leave, Madam Pomfrey."

"A rule to adhere to, boys. If a lady says to leave her bedchamber, you should probably do so."

Absolutely chortling, Hermione couldn't even breathe as the twins ran for the Infirmary doors. "G'night!" they called back to her.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Granger?" the matron asked, coming to sit next to the bed and wave her wand. As a diagnostic tool, a wand was far less invasive than her old pediatrician's stethoscope, sticks, and lights, Hermione decided.

"I'm fine, ma'am. They're harmless."

Madam Pomfrey snorted again. "Clearly, you are not well acquainted with them."

The reminder doused Hermione's urge to smile. "No, ma'am. I'm not."

* * *

 ** _5 November 1991_**

Some brilliant swot decided to celebrate Guy Fawkes' Day by hanging up an effigy.

Of her.

It was suspended in the arch between the common room and the girls' dorms without any visible means of support. Just a rope, anchored in thin air.

After some magical efforts that didn't dislodge the effigy with the wild brown hair, overlarge brown eyes, and open mouth, Hermione managed to use sheer force.

She tugged it down and set it on fire. In the common room. With witnesses.

Professor Snape entered just as the mess was settling into a pile of ash. "Your doing, Miss Granger? Do you object to Bonfire Day?"

"I just object to hanging people, sir. Even in effigy."

"Very well."

* * *

 ** _21 December 1991_**

"Professor Snape? I've got the book you lent me." Hermione didn't dare enter his office without permission, but felt comfortable enough calling in her purpose from the corridor.

He was standing at one of his bookshelves and didn't answer, so Hermione retrieved the heavy, leather-bound tome and leaned against the doorjamb to wait. _To Protect and Defend_ , by Imeldine von Ritter. Not a school text, the book Professor Snape had lent her was geared toward a woman being able to take care of herself and her family. Having mastered the spells in the DADA texts for the first three years, this was the most advanced, Professor Snape had said, that he felt comfortable allowing her to learn on her own. Hermione was profoundly grateful for the opportunity and resolved to bake the professor some biscuits over the holiday.

"Hey. Mudblood."

"Oh, honestly, Malfoy. Haven't you got anything else to do?" The blond boy was oozing entitlement from every orifice on his body, she was sure. The image was gross, but it also amused her.

"Actually, I do. _Accio_ text!" he called, with a _lot_ of wand waving.

Frightened and furious, Hermione pressed the book tight to her chest and drew her wand. "No! That's Professor Snape's!" Without thinking about possible consequences, she focused and cast a Jelly-Legs Jinx.

"Hey!" Malfoy said as he fell to the floor. "Wait until my father hears about this!"

"Miss Granger? Mr. Malfoy? Is something wrong?"

 _Oh, now he shows up_ , Hermione groused privately, canceling the jinx with a whispered _Finite_. After a quick glance at her nemesis, who scrambled to his feet, she smoothed her face. "Not a thing, sir. Just here to return the book you lent me."

Their Head of House took the offered text with barely a glance. "And you, Mr. Malfoy? Here to return the steel tipped quill you borrowed?"

"Er, yes, sir. Here it is." Hermione had to give it to the boy; his delivery was smooth and he didn't even have to scramble to search for the quill in his robes. Crossing the corridor, he held up the writing implement. "My mother asked me to invite you to Malfoy Manor for a Yule celebration, Godfather." He added this last with a sneer, as if to say, _You might borrow books, Mudblood, but he's not friends with your parents, is he?_

She ignored the look and adopted a polite smile. "Have a good holiday, Professor."

"Miss Granger. Mr. Malfoy? Come into my office."

Professor Snape closed the door and Hermione decided not to eavesdrop.

* * *

 ** _4 January 1992_**

George hugged his mum and waited whilst Fred did the same. "Bye, Mum. See you over Easter hols!" He tugged at his brother's elbow and leaned on their shared trolley. A short girl with a bushy, beribboned braid was disappearing at Platform 9 3/4 and he wanted to catch up with her before half of Hogwarts was around to comment.

Well, the Gryffindor and Slytherin half. Ravens and badgers couldn't care less. He knew this because he'd asked around. "C'mon. We gotta get to her before she disappears."

Fred nodded and they dashed through the slower moving crowd until they were right on Granger's heels. "Granger," they whispered. Loudly.

She kept walking into the wall, not even stopping to look at them. "She's not speaking to us," George declared, setting his jaw.

"Then _we_ should speak to _her_."

They veered off, Fred checking into the cars while George waited for him to find a likely one where they could head off their prey. He almost laughed; this was great fun. Just before Granger boarded the Express, she stopped and looked, a frown clear on her little face.

"Bet she's looking for us," he whispered to himself. Not loudly at all.

They didn't manage to corner her for the trip up to Scotland, but Fred and George decided they could still use the time well and plan pranks. Epic pranks. They didn't blame Granger for avoiding them, not really.

"Besides," George said as he stretched out on one of the seats in their compartment, his eye on the corridor beyond the door. "We don't want her to whip her wand out on us, do we?"

His brother nodded and dug three little juggling balls from a pocket. "She'll think we're stalking her."

"Well, we _were_ stalking her, Fred."

Fred pursed his lips and juggled a bit, mostly quiet until he missed one of the balls and he had to chase them down on the floor. He didn't want to have to use magic to juggle; it was a Muggle skill he was working on, having seen a street performer over the summer in Muggle London. "But why?"

George rolled his eyes. "Defense spells? Protection charms? Hello?"

"I just—" Fred paused and tried to find the right words. "I don't want her to feel weird with us, you know? Remember what Poppy said about a lady's bedchamber?"

George bolted upright from his lackadaisical posture. "She's only, what? A year younger than we are, yeah? I don't think we have to worry about a 'lady's bedchamber' quite yet, Twin O'Mine."

Fred smiled sheepishly, though his ears were a bit red in embarrassment. "Fair enough. Maybe we can pin her down on the trip down to London?"

With a grin, George agreed. "And until then, I've got this idea . . ."

* * *

 ** _14 April 1992_**

Fred—the one without the aberrational eyebrow—jerked his chin up when the door to Charms opened. He was standing at the end of the corridor as she left the room and he waved a small parchment aeroplane.

Curious, but unwilling to be humiliated by approaching him and having him turn from her— since their vaunted Gryffindor ethics didn't _allow_ them to speak to a Slytherin in public—Hermione crossed the corridor to lean against one of the storage closet doors, pretending to look for something in her book bag. She was certainly _not_ looking at the Gryffindor who seemed as if he were needing to visit the loo or something.

Boys!

As she found a pen and roll of parchment that she imagined she could pretend to use, the small parchment aeroplane dove into her hair. She tucked her writing implements back into her bag and retrieved the missive from her unbraided curls before putting it in a pocket. She certainly was not going to read notes from a Gryffindor boy in front of her classmates.

It wasn't until she was in the loo herself, rather later, that she felt able to open her letter. For a boy, the writer's penmanship was decent.

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _In the interest of mutually beneficial magical development and education, your presence is requested in a private compartment on the H.E. down to London tomorrow. We'll get the compartment and figure out how to let you know where we are if you say yes._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Mr. and Mr. Weasley_

"Well, they certainly were _trying_ for an O for style."

Studying the folded parchment, she leaned against the wall of the stall and frowned. Out of the hundreds of students at Hogwarts, the Weasley twins were still the only ones who had spoken _with_ her, not _to_ her. They were smart, and they listened to what she had to say.

When they bothered to speak with her at all.

Her inner pride told her not to bother. To ignore the boys as they had turned from her.

But then, she remembered how George had looked in the empty classroom last year. He'd been distressed, as she had. And they'd visited her in the Hospital Wing. After hours.

"Fine," she said on a quiet sigh. Ducking out of the loo, she found the first empty room with a table and drafted her reply, remembering the business letters she had seen her parents write for their dental practice.

 _To: F &G_

 _Re: Development & Education_

 _Sirs:_

 _Thank you for your interest in our mutual education. I will be happy to meet with you on your terms. Please advise as to time and location._

 _Cordially,_

 _HJG_

* * *

 ** _15 April 1992_**

 **Hogsmeade Station**

"Look, someone's carved their initials in here," Fred said. "Is she coming yet?"

"Whose initials? Can you tell? And no, not yet."

"Well, Stick your tie to the glass, there. No one's going to come after you. We're still on the Express, yeah?"

George snorted. "As if we'd worry."

"Well, we don't get caught, now, do we?"

"So, whose initials?"

"RJL, SOB—"

Having Stuck the tie to the glass, George chuckled and climbed to stand on the bench next to his brother. "No, seriously?"

"Look, see?" Fred pointed to the moulding at the top of the compartment. "And then there's PP and JP."

"Those are old carvings, Fred. No one who rides the train now made 'em."

"I believe you're right."

"We'll have to come back to this one."

"Yeah. Maybe add our initials as well, one day."

George grinned and glanced out the window. "When we've done something important, anyway. Look, there she is."

The boys jumped to the floor, trying ineffectually to straighten their hair. Fred noticed that his heart was racing, but put it down to the climbing up and down. George noticed his cheeks were hot, but decided it was because he was worried they'd get caught climbing in the compartment.

And when the little witch—whose brown eyes were cinnamon compared to their own, which looked more like clear tea—pushed her trunk into their compartment, George unStuck his tie while Fred closed the door. She eyed them skeptically, as if to say, _Well? Now what?_

They took a breath and greeted her as one. "Granger!"

Fred extended a hand. "Let me get your trunk."

"Have a sit."

"Comfortable?"

"Close the door, Fred?"

"On it!"

"Stop, already!" Their guest rose from the seat they'd pushed her into and stood, hands on her hips, glaring at them like their mum. "What is going on?"

Eyes wide in pretended innocence, George shrugged and settled onto the bench across the compartment from her. "Just wanted to talk, is all. We know you're learning more than the average second year."

Fred nodded and pointed to her vacated seat. "We've seen you hex the occasional git. And Professor Snape didn't dock a hundred house points from anyone over the troll incident. So we figure you're not in trouble with him."

"And from this you infer what?" She was studying them, her eyes narrowed as she examined their faces for something.

"That you could teach us stuff," Fred said bluntly.

George nodded. "And we could teach you stuff, as well. And I wanted to talk about that idea you had at the beginning of the year." He leaned forward, so Fred did, too. "You know, about having magic to use but not performing it."

Her face relaxed instantly and her eyes smiled. "Oh! Yes! All right, then." She bit her lip and then asked, "Is this like a secret sort of conference? Because I learned a spell to disguise our words while we speak."

Fred felt a surge of excitement jolt through him. It made him feel . . . odd, different, self-conscious, but really, really good. He didn't know what it meant, but he crossed gazes with his brother and saw a similar energized confusion in his eyes. They'd talk about it later. Alone.

For now, he was all about learning what Hermione Granger had to teach. "What's it called and how do we do it and will we get caught?"

She grinned a sly grin and pulled her wand from . . . somewhere . . . before whispering, " _Muffliato_ ," and etching shapes into the air with tiny motions. "I'll show you, and no, I don't think so."

"Wicked!"

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Harry Potter, in this story, went after the troll simply because it was there. He's got that whole "saving people" thing, as I understand it. Note, Potter is not a bad guy in this story. He's just not My Hero._

 _Next chapter: TUESDAY. Really. I meant to stick to a schedule..._


	7. Chapter Six: Hermione's Third Year

_**A/N** : Can I do all of Hermione's third year in one chapter? Yes, yes I can. Thank you to everyone who's reading, following, and reviewing! It's lovely to hear from you!_

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

 ** _September, 1992_**

She didn't look for Harry Potter on the first of September at King's Cross Station. Neither did she look for a scarlet and gold tie hanging improbably from plate glass in one particular compartment on the Express. She and the twins had discussed it and decided, on the way back from Hogwarts, that students were more likely to sit with friends and not seek out everyone, since they'd spent so much time together. But on the way to Scotland? Everything would be different.

So, she had no friends. Again. Still.

She planned on doing advance reading anyway. Her chosen electives for this year at Hogwarts were Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

 _"Quite a full schedule, Miss Granger," Professor Snape had said before the summer holiday. "I assume you'll continue with your current level of performance."_

 _"I'll try, sir."_

 _"See that you do. And endeavor not to get injured." He'd lifted a brow. "Though I am sure you could find resources to prevent that. If you find any, I will be available to advise as to their efficacy."_

So, she had returned to school with two new, non-school books with extracurricular defensive and offensive spells. Fred and George would find them very helpful, she was sure. In addition, Snape had approved them within the first two days of classes.

* * *

 ** _Hogwarts, 23 October 1992_**

Hermione entered the common room with a certain amount of confidence in her walk. She was feeling a bit less as if she were living in a war zone of late. It had been two days since she'd had to shield herself from a hex and a full week since anyone had called her "Mudblood". This was enough to make her lip curl just a bit as she emerged amidst her housemates. Sofas in green lined the walls, silvered frames supported portraits and landscapes, and the Slytherin Crest was displayed prominently over the hearth, which was always lit.

The dungeons were safe, but they were chilly, all year round.

She paused to see if any from her year were on their way to Potions. It was always amusing to be in Professor Snape's class, for her. He was brilliant with potions, and he had made it a point to let her answer a few questions during every lesson, so she no longer felt that she had to get his attention. This behavior had led to her settling down in her other classes, as well. After all, if Professor Snape thought well enough of her to give her points in Potions and private tuition (after a fashion) in Defense, she didn't need to prove herself to anyone, did she?

Most of those in her year were sucking up to the Malfoy scion, eating something he'd had delivered by owl the day before. His mother sent all kinds of sweets and small cakes to him. It went without saying that she had been in Slytherin, as well.

With a nearly invisible shrug, she left the common room and turned to make her way to the Potions lesson. As the classroom was in the dungeon, the walk was brief and also familiar. Combined with her lessened sense of defensiveness, she would reflect later, it was no wonder she was hexed.

A harsh aspiration preceded motion and a flare of white light that she saw from the corner of her eye. "Ha!" an indistinguishable voice laughed. "Gotcha!"

Hermione cringed, hissing at the pain. The skin of her right shoulder immediately stretched and the muscle under it felt swollen and painful as well. She tried to grip her wand, but her shoulder really hurt and that made her fumble. A Stinging Hex, she told herself, was not fatal and wouldn't have any long-lasting effects, but still—!

Angry at herself, Hermione tried to find who had hexed her, but only a flurry of black robes disappearing around a corner had given the successful assailant a form. She grit her teeth against the pain and stomped off to Potions.

 _I have to learn how to fight back_. She felt so stupid as she set out her cauldron and got her parchment and quill ready for the lesson. _All these things I've studied and I couldn't even fight back! I need to practice dueling_.

But how?

Professor Snape billowed into the room, though, and she shoved her thoughts on dueling aside. She was learning the spells; she just needed a partner. But not in Potions.

* * *

 ** _26 November 1992_**

 _Gilderoy Lockhart_. Hermione wrote the name on a scrap of parchment and blushed. Their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was so handsome! And he wrote books! And he had flair and a smile that won awards in _Witch Weekly_!

She cocked her head and imagined little hearts and stupid curlicues around his name and, oddly enough, they appeared. The shock of that was enough for her to set the parchment on fire and burn the evidence forever.

"My best work is on Memory Charms," he confided to the class one day in late November.

Hermione just smiled. Who could forget Lockhart, after all? Odd that she didn't think of him as Professor Lockhart. Just . . . Lockhart.

"What good are memory charms going to do us in Defense?" Shafiq asked, not even having raised her hand.

It was a good question, and Hermione had her pen poised to take down an answer.

It never came.

* * *

 ** _17 December 1992_**

Hermione could barely contain her excitement, but she did so. It wouldn't do for her fellow Slytherins to see how much she was looking forward to the opportunity to practice her offensive and defensive spell work.

Fred and George were in the Great Hall, as well. They weren't "friends" though, until the trip down to London, so she did her best to ignore them, choosing instead to stand with those in her House, a solid phalanx of green and silver ties, with Professor Snape near her right hand as they waited for everyone to settle in.

"Excellent!" Lockhart said at length, swirling his coat to dramatic effect. "Good to see everyone represented!"

Her Head of House made some sort of derisive sound that made Hermione want to smile. She didn't. She did, though, listen closely.

"Indeed. So. We'll be engaging in dueling in this club, which will of course mean exercising those things you _should_ be learning in theory." He crooked a brow, as if to say he doubted anyone were learning anything. "Some of you will obviously do better than others, as you are all at different levels of skill. To begin. Professor Lockhart and I have agreed to demonstrate the basics of a duel for you. Watch. Learn. Remember."

Lockhart leapt dramatically to one end of the Ravenclaw table. His cape—a ridiculous but pretty shade of lavender rose—flared from his form and Hermione wondered if he had charmed it to do just that. "Right, then! If my assistant, Professor Snape, would join me on the Dueling Ground?"

His _assistant_? Oh, that shredded it, as far as Hermione was concerned. She had nothing but the highest regard for Professor Snape and she knew that he was worth twenty of a rose-caped, smiling fellow like Lockhart.

With his customary dignity, Professor Snape took a step to a seat and then a step to the top of the table. "This," he said, striking a pose, "is acceptable combative position." He faced Lockhart, right arm back and up with his wand pointing at the Defense professor. Lockhart did likewise, with a swirl of his cape and a toss of his head.

Lockhart bowed to Professor Snape, who did likewise. Then, Lockhart opened his mouth wide and drew in a deep, showy breath as if he were going cliff diving.

Her Head of House executed a disarming charm that snapped Lockhart's wand away from him so fast and so hard that the Defense Professor flew off the table and against the wall.

"I meant for that to happen," Lockhart said, shaking himself off with one of his award-winning smiles. "Been practicing for weeks! So! Pair up now, and try it yourselves!"

Professor Snape eyed the room from his superior vantage point, but his gaze came to rest on her. It held the question: _Are you ready for this?_ As well as the caution: _Don't show them everything_.

She nodded in answer to both, wondering if he could read her mind. There were rumors!

No one asked her to duel with them, though, so she hung back, thinking to take on a winner or loser of a current dueling pair. But then, the strangest thing happened.

"Oi, Granger."

* * *

"Fred?" Granger turned to them, whispering his name. He felt as if he'd been stunned.

"Did she guess or does she _know_?" George wondered at his shoulder.

"Dunno."

Wand out and head cocked, she stepped around the table to them. "What do you want? I didn't think you were _speaking_ to me at _school_."

"Duel with me," Fred suggested, wiggling his wand and jutting his chin forward. "George takes the winner."

He knew, when she lifted one brow just like Snape, that he had perhaps underestimated the situation. "I'm in trouble," he muttered, assuming the acceptable combative position.

George snorted. "I think so."

"Ready?" Granger called, already in position. She was looking him right in the eye, her whole being seemingly focused on him. Fred felt a shiver of . . . of _something_ race down his spine. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was a new thing, and he'd have to think about it. Later.

She bowed so he did as well, keeping his eyes on her the whole time and ignoring all the yelling and cries that erupted from other duelists about them. " _Expelliarmus_!" he shouted.

Her wand flew from her hand and she stood, mouth dropped open, eyes wide. "Hey!"

"What's the matter, Mudblood?" It was Draco Malfoy, and he was on the table, opposite Harry.

Fred instantly tensed, while Granger retrieved her wand with almost impossible speed. Then, she whispered a hex that flared white for a moment and hit the younger boy in the knee. "Nothing's the matter now, Malfoy," she said calmly, appearing to relax.

"My knee! Merlin, what'd you do to my _knee_?"

"Mr. Malfoy. Miss Granger. What is going on? I thought Mr. Malfoy was dueling with Mr. Potter?"

"Sorry, Professor Snape," Granger said, spine straight and head back to meet the greasy git's gaze.

"She used some kind of hex on me, Professor!" The blond boy looked infuriated.

Potter raised his wand. "Are we still on or what, Malfoy?"

Snape shook his head slowly, as if terribly disappointed. Fred was just happy not to be in trouble with him. "Miss Granger, are you dueling with Mr. Malfoy?"

Fred stepped forward, as if he were going to try to defend the girl, but George pulled him back by his elbow. "Shh! That's her Head of House. She'll be fine."

"No, sir. I was dueling with Fred Weasley. He got my wand, though," she added with a scowl in Fred's direction. "I got it back."

Snape eyed Fred and his brother as if they were a lower life form from under a rock. "Did he? How careless of you to be disarmed, Miss Granger. Try again. I'll monitor."

"Shite," George whispered. "Now you're in for it."

Granger bowed first before assuming the position. "Ready?"

"Yes!"

This time, she twirled her wand a little and hit him in the leg with something that hurt!

" _Protego_!" she called right after that.

"Her shield!" George called. "Remember?"

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for assisting in a duel."

Not only in pain, but also irritated with his twin, Fred didn't know how to get around a shield, so he just kept firing a Jelly-Legs Jinx at it, over and over, hoping to break through.

"Finish it, Miss Granger," Snape said, looking with abject boredom at his wand.

" _Expelliarmus_!" Granger snapped.

And just like that, the duel was over.

"Mr. George Weasley? I believe you were to duel the winner?"

Nearby, the Potter-Malfoy duel was still in progress but not for long. George cheered on his housemate as Harry sent Malfoy spinning through the air.

"Good on ya, Harry!" the twins shouted. "Go, Gryffindor!"

"You better be ready, Gryffindor!" Granger called, reminding him they were supposed to be next.

George shook his shoulders to loosen them up, forgetting how watching her duel had done something to his body that he had not really considered before. Right now, he just wanted to avoid getting stung or jinxed like Fred. He assumed the position, eyeing Snape to see if the greasy fellow were paying attention.

He was. "Well, Miss Granger? Don't tell me you've forgotten form?"

She tossed her head and bowed. "Mr. Weasley?"

Returning her bow and her name he nodded. "Begin."

He tried something new. " _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

"Well done, Forge!" his twin said as Granger floated from the floor.

Granger appeared completely out of her element. "Well, she's not a bird," George reflected with a grin. He relaxed a bit. "All right up there, Granger?" He checked with Snape to make sure that this wasn't making the man angry.

Instead, Snape nodded. "Five points to Gryffindor," he muttered.

"Fine. I'm fine," Granger asserted, gathering her school robes close to her body so they didn't fly up and away.

Now that, George considered, still with a smile on his face, was a benefit he hadn't considered.

Fred slugged him in the shoulder. "Don't be an idiot. Her Head of House is right there."

"When did you start reading my mind?"

"The moment you were stuck in the cot with me, prat."

Snape crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, Miss Granger? How do you plan on getting down from there?" By now, half the students in the room were watching them.

As if she were in class, the girl cocked her head to one side. Then, a light seemed to ignite behind her eyes. " _Finite Incantatem_!"

"Impressive," Snape acknowledged. "Five points to Slytherin!"

As soon as she landed, Granger lifted her wand. " _Tarantallegra_!"

George felt his legs start moving in a wild dance. "What the bloody?"

"Hell is that?" Fred finished.

Hermione waved her wand a bit and George felt himself compelled to take his show on the road, apparently.

Shockingly enough, the Slytherins were applauding. "Granger! Good on you, Granger!"

"Twenty points to Slytherin. Now, enough dancing, Mr. Weasley. _Finite Incantatem_."

His arm around George's shoulder as his twin settled himself after the impromptu dance, Fred's focus followed Granger with almost his full attention. She was in a half-circle of snakes, all with their green and silver ties and their uppity airs but . . .

She was smiling. And blushing. And despite the fact that he and George had their arses handed to them by the girl, he had to smile a little himself. He'd never seen her look like that at school, before.

"What's got that smile on your face?" George wondered as he shook Fred off.

"Granger."

"Oh. Yeah. Well. We've got lots to talk about on the trip down, yeah?"

"Yeah. She was holding back, I think." Fred tapped his wand against his palm. "I got the impression that Snape knew it, as well."

"Those snakes stick together."

"True, that."

* * *

 ** _7 January 1993_**

The Gryffindors were coming out of Herbology and Hermione was waiting for them to clear the room so she could go in. Herbology in the middle of winter was not her favorite, but the greenhouses were a pleasant change from the slushy snow, so that was something. In the classroom it was pleasant enough, and Professor Sprout always had an air of fresh greenery about her. Even in January in Scotland.

"Granger!"

Gryffindors didn't call out to her—save for when one of the Ginger Duo had during dueling last month—so Hermione was a bit surprised to see Harry Potter approach her, a look of determination in those sharp green eyes of his. "Potter?" She looked around, and his friend, the twins' little brother, was standing some distance away with a disgusted look on his freckled face. "What do you want?"

"Got a minute?"

"I've got Herbology just as soon as you lot clear out. What do you want?" she asked again.

"It's about Malfoy," he murmured.

She stiffened. "What about him?"

"There's rumors, you know. About him being . . ." And he hissed, low, under his breath.

Still, she got it. She wasn't entirely unaware of Inter-House dynamics. Additionally, she'd seen the writing on the wall. Shock jolted from her heart to her skin. "Malfoy? I thought that was _you_! You're the one who spoke—" With a quick turn of her body, she kept her words private. "—Parseltongue during the duels!"

"Me?" Potter looked pained and rubbed at the scar on his forehead. "No way. Has to be him."

"It's not. Trust me."

Potter dragged both hands through his hair as if completely frustrated. "You're in his House. How can I?"

"You think we're automatically instant best friends in Slytherin?" She scoffed and eyed the door to Herbology. "No. And no. He's not. But he hates you, so . . ."

Potter studied her for a moment, but she kept her usual mask in place while he did so. Finally, he nodded. "I'll trust you on this one. They say you're the smartest witch in your year, here."

She shrugged, though secretly she was pleased to have that as part of her reputation. "I try."

"If you hear of something about, about this . . .?"

"I don't know what I'd hear, but I'll keep my ears open, Potter." It wasn't a promise to share any information, after all. And it would perhaps serve to have an ally in another House. "I have to get to class."

"Thanks," he said, extending his hand to her.

After a quick look about, she took it and shook it briefly. "Sure. Bye."

Now there were three Gryffindors who had spoken to her of their own free will. "What are they putting in their pumpkin juice?" she wondered out loud as she stepped into Professor Sprout's room.

* * *

Finding a dueling partner as the year wore on was difficult.

Hermione had enjoyed the brief applause and recognition she had won after making George Weasley dance in the Great Hall, but the Slytherin Motto seemed to be, "What have you done for me lately?" Once everyone had settled into classes for the winter, no one wanted to duel with her.

"Mudblood bint."

"Waste of magic."

"Ridiculous know-it-all."

That last irked her more than any, since she had worked very hard not to be so pushy in her classes. Still, she wondered if she could trade in what she had for what she wanted. And what she had were brains and knowledge and a fool-proof study regimen. What she wanted was experience.

Finally, one day in the middle of March, she drew on all her courage and brought a chair to the hearth, where she made it Stick so no one could knock it over. It was during the evening study hour, and the common room was filled with her housemates of most ages, clustered around tables and snuggled on sofas. Climbing on the chair, Hermione sought to steady her balance before setting off sparks from the tip of her wand.

"May I have your attention, please?"

After the usual comments regarding her ancestry and so on, Professor Snape appeared at the entrance to their common room. He stood just inside the door. He didn't even need to clear his throat to gain the attention of everyone in the room, and Hermione didn't know if she should be worried or relieved.

He said nothing, though, so she continued. "I'm looking for a dueling partner or partners," she stated bluntly. "We're not learning anything in Lockhart's class, so I'd like to try developing my skills outside of his class, but not in the corridors where I'm likely to get detention." She shot a glance at Professor Snape as she said this, but he merely returned her look with an impassive air. Shrugging inwardly, she continued. "I only want to work with people fourth year and above. Someone who would surely be better at this than I am."

"What do we get out of it?" a fifth year called from his place in one of the club chairs.

"Help with your homework? A research partner to help you prepare for O.W.L.s? Muggle sweets?" Her parents would not approve, but a girl had to compromise in pursuit of her studies. "I can negotiate."

Oddly enough, there were no grumblings about whether or not she'd be _able_ to help older students with their homework. Instead, the questions involved what kind of sweets and did the Muggles make better chocolate than Honeydukes?

She had to smile at that. "Nothing beats Swiss or Austrian, in my experience. Not even Honeydukes. Any questions?"

There were none; neither did she have any immediate volunteers. Still, she had picked up a few key characteristics of being in Slytherin. No one was going to commit to helping the Mudblood in front of witnesses. Not until they knew for sure it was worth it.

So she leapt lightly off the chair, unStuck it, and left the common room. Her Head of House followed and she could hear the increase in conversation behind her as he did so.

She turned in the corridor to confront him. "Thank you, Professor, for your support in there."

He lifted a brow and his lip twitched. "Oh, is that what that was, Miss Granger?"

* * *

 ** _31 May 1993_**

Josiah Selwyn lay panting on the floor of the common room, sweat darkening his light brown hair. "I yield, Granger." The fifth year's voice was even, his manner annoyed but not adversarial. "Merlin, never figured you'd take me down."

Hermione kept her wand on him; she'd been tricked before by an opponent once she'd thought she'd beaten them, and had been stunned, bound, and once even left bleeding and petrified on the floor. _Not today_. "Well, I've been working hard, too, Selwyn." She wiped perspiration from her own forehead. "And I think this is the longest duel I've had since I started."

"Thirty-five minutes," Shana Shacklebolt declared from her spot near the fireplace. "That's the official time." That Shacklebolt had declared herself official timekeeper for Hermione's duels had alarmed, then amused her.

"So do you put out when you lose, Mudblood?"

Hermione didn't even look at him. "Malfoy, you know people often accuse others of things they'd do themselves. Are you volunteering?" That she was in third year and he in second wasn't the point; the sixth and seventh years who had witnessed the duel snorted in laughter. Draco sputtered and swore before stomping out of the common room.

Selwyn gestured carefully that he'd like to get up. "I imagine he's off to tell his father about this."

Finally, Hermione cracked a smile. "Think his mum will send _me_ sweets, instead?"

Selwyn shook his head before bowing formally to her. "Good duel, Granger."

Released and relieved that it was indeed over, for Selwyn would not continue once he'd bowed to her, she returned the honor. "Good duel, Selwyn."

"Now. How about meeting me back here after dinner to help me revise for Transfiguration?"

"I'll bring my colored inks."

An unexpected but not unwelcome byproduct of her offer to help with homework in exchange for dueling was that Hermione found herself learning a great deal about subjects that were years ahead of her. She'd edited essays, planned study schedules for a couple members of the House Quidditch Team, and asked versions of homework questions to students revising for their N.E.W.T.s.

Not that she mentioned any of this to anyone. As far as most in her House knew, she only did one thing.

"Just your inks?" Selwyn asked, conjuring a towel to wipe his throat.

"Well, the chocolates, as well." That was something that made sense to everyone, that "the Mudblood had to use food to bribe people to play with her".

After the first few times, the accusation hadn't stung anymore. She knew better. And so did a few of her housemates.

* * *

 ** _Hogwarts Express, 27 June 1993_**

"I was glad to hear your sister's okay," Hermione said as she passed by Fred and George on the train. There had been no tie in the window; their usual compartment was filled with the rest of the Weasleys . . . and Harry Potter.

Fred scratched the back of his neck as he appeared not to talk to her at all, but merely to watch the corridor around them. "Thanks. I, _we_ , we were worried about you, you being Muggle-born and everything."

She leaned against a strip of wall that had no door on it and didn't look at him. "Thanks. I spent a lot of time dueling, though, and didn't go, er, down there."

"That's good."

It was awkward, standing together but not together. Talking but not talking. Friends but not friends. "So. Um."

"Can you send us an owl? With whatever new books you get to study? You know, the defensive ones?"

"I'll be on holiday in France with my parents, but I'll try."

"Oi! George!" The younger brother, Ron-the-prat, called. "You still there?"

"Better go," George murmured.

"I know. Have a good summer."

* * *

 _A/N: I know, not a lot of F/H/G time here, but you know, everyone has to grow up a bit...but they are. Hermione has to grow up a bit, too. Remember, this is done on my end, so I will not leave them hanging forever. Just...for a while. ;-)_


	8. Chapter Seven: Cold, Friendless Feeling

**_A/N:_** _My thanks to everyone who is adding this story to their lists, reading, and especially those who review! It's always a pleasure to hear from you._

 _Instead of a kneazle, Hermione's getting an owl (very practical). And she's naming the owl after a warrior queen. And yes, the name will be familiar if you read_ Casting the Stake _. Sorry/Not Sorry. I just can't shake the name. Other AU things happen. So yes, I know they're AU. Gossip. It's everywhere._

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

 ** _King's Cross Station, 1 September 1993_**

"Bye, Mum! Bye, Dad!" Hermione kissed her parents' cheeks as she had seen done in France, where they'd spent a lovely holiday.

The dentists grinned, teeth strong and white in tanned faces, their sun-kissed skin just like Hermione's. "See you at Christmas, pumpkin!" they reminded her. "Be safe."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course." They hadn't known of her times not being safe at Hogwarts, nor had she any plans of telling them. She waved at them until they disappeared amongst the blended crowd of Muggle and Magical. They trusted her by now to see herself across Platform 9 3/4, of course. She pushed her trolley through the brick "wall" and emerged triumphant once again right next to the Hogwarts Express.

"Granger!"

Hermione turned with a flat expression on her face. "Potter?" The boy with the unkempt hair and grass-green eyes sidled over to her as if he didn't want anyone to know he was talking to her. This did not surprise her. "Not still worried about the Heir thing, are you?"

He shook his head, sending his fringe behind his glasses, which appeared broken. You heard what happened, yeah?"

"I did. And nice work, by the way."

"Thanks."

"You have a crack in your glasses. Can I fix it for you? It's making me mental, looking at it."

He rolled his eyes and handed them to her. "Fine. Can't have the dueling champion of Slytherin going mental."

She paused in the act of taking the eyewear from his hands. "Pardon?"

"Well, aren't you?" he asked, not meeting her eyes but instead looking around her. "Cor, you've got an owl?"

" _Reparo_." She let the change of topic happen and handed him back his glasses, because she didn't want to be known as a dueling champion. She just wanted to be good enough for people to leave her alone. She was sure she'd find out in a matter of days if she had succeeded or not. "I do. Where's Hedwig?"

"There, see?" He opened his cage and the beautiful white Snowy Owl flew into it. "Hello, girl." He fished about in a pocket of his not-so-oversized trousers. "Here's some bacon for you." Hedwig made a chittering sort of sound with her beak before taking the nibble from Harry's fingers.

"This is Boudicca," Hermione said, running a finger over her owl's cage. "It's been fun getting to know her."

Harry politely said hello to the Tawny Owl. "You're a pretty girl, aren't you?"

Boudicca preened a little, showing off her darker brown under-feathers. Harry smiled at her before closing Hedwig's cage and looking around a bit. She did likewise, seeing her own dorm mates boarding the train already, as well as Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe.

"Er, this is going to sound ridiculous, perhaps, but have you heard much of the Muggle news, lately?"

"Of course? But I was in France for a while, so . . ."

"Did you happen to hear about Sirius Black?"

She didn't mind talking to Potter, but she was getting concerned about finding a place to sit that would accommodate Boudicca, so Hermione nodded toward the train. "Can we talk about it in there?" When he hesitated, she rolled her eyes. "Come on. It's not like the _Weasleys_ are here to—" _Give you grief because you're talking to a Slytherin, yell at you, call you names, call_ me _names_. "—Question your choices of conversational partner, right?"

He squinched up his face a bit and shrugged. "I'm not worried about them. I just wondered if you'd heard about, about _him_."

She took the lead toward the last car on the train, hoping to find an empty compartment. Wouldn't it be something to actually have someone to talk to on the way to Scotland that she could actually stand? "I did, yes. There was stuff on the telly. Why?"

"He's my godfather," Potter muttered as he maneuvered his owl cage into the passage way.

That made her stop utterly. "What?"

He made a motion to urge her to keep moving. "My godfather. At least, that's what I heard."

She found an empty compartment. "Sit with me?" she asked with a show of indifference. She didn't want him to think she hoped he would stay. Not because he was famous or anything, but just because he _talked_ to her.

"Okay." He sent a rushed, harried sort of look down the passage before hauling his trunk and Hedwig into their compartment. "So do you have a problem with the Weasleys?"

She blinked but retrieved her latest books from her trunk to read on the trip up. "I met Charlie, you know. He was a Prefect when I was a first year. He was fine. And Percy seemed okay, for a Prefect. He was polite." She had to be careful about what she said about Fred and George, though, so she tried for casual. "I dueled Fred and George. They're not bad."

"About that," Potter interrupted. "I remember, they called out for you to duel them."

"Yes." She wasn't going to elaborate.

He nodded. "They said you met on the train."

 _And that's almost the only place they'll talk to me_. "We did. So?"

With a shrug he leaned back on the seat opposite her. "So. I just wondered how you knew them."

"Like you said, we met on the train. Anyway, you were telling me about your godfather?"

He eyed her for a moment before leaning forward, elbows on knees. "Right. So. I just wondered if you'd heard anything lately, about where he was."

"No." She thought a bit. "They said he was dangerous."

He sighed. "That's what I heard." Anger flared from his eyes. "It's a long story, but yeah. He—well, he was friends with my dad, but then—" With another look to the empty passage, he whispered, "They say he killed Muggles and, and helped Voldemort kill my parents."

Hermione swore. Out loud. It wasn't something she did often, but she did then. "Does he know where you are, Potter?"

"Probably."

"What were you doing by yourself then?"

"I was with the Weasleys, but—but I just needed to get away. Just for a bit, you know? They, they're a lot of people to be surrounded with, sometimes."

Her thoughts were following a pathway that would end with Sirius Black coming to Hogwarts to find his godson, but she let them fly for the moment. "I understand. I'm an only child and living in the dorms can be stifling, sometimes."

"Exactly!" He offered her a commiserating smile. "I think they're so used to being with other people, they don't think about it."

"Maybe."

What they would have discussed next was a mystery, because a tall man with sandy brown hair and scars on his face appeared in the open door. Looking exhausted, he shook his head when he saw Potter. "Oh, right," he murmured. Then, he smiled, though Hermione thought the smile had an edge to it. "Hello. Mind if I join you for the trip up?" He hefted the leather case in his hand. "Remus Lupin," he said by way of introduction.

It seemed to Hermione that he said his name as though it should have mattered, but she didn't know why it would. When Potter didn't speak up fast enough to suit her, she performed the niceties. "I'm Hermione Granger. This is Harry Potter. We don't see many adults coming up on the Hogwarts Express, Mr. Lupin."

He tore his focus away from Potter and nodded to her. "You're right. I was just . . . very tired. Besides, I thought I might be of some use on the train up. I'm, er, a new professor this year at Hogwarts. I graduated from there in 1978." He looked at Potter again, with that piercing gaze that made her nervous.

Potter cocked his head, but kept his own counsel, which she had to say was wise of him. "You can sit down, Mr. Lupin, if you don't mind owls."

"What will you be teaching, Professor?" Hermione asked as the man settled in next to Potter.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, Miss Granger."

She was not impressed, but she wouldn't say so. He'd be her professor and it wouldn't do to bias him against her.

"And I do beg your pardon," the professor said, "but I really am quite tired. So . . ."

Hermione nodded. "Of course, sir. I had reading to do, anyway."

Potter nodded and they all settled down in the compartment until Ron Weasley showed up, looking flushed and harried. "Oi! Mum was insistent about something and we got delayed and then we couldn't _find_ you." He collapsed on the seat next to Hermione, but she knew he didn't see her; he was focused on Harry and the professor. "Who's that?"

"Shh! He's Professor Lupin and he'll be teaching DADA. He needs a bit of a kip, so be quiet."

"Cor! Why is _she_ in here?" Weasley demanded of Potter, jumping to his feet again, not quietly at all. "She's a snake, Harry!"

"Shh!"

Hermione didn't even look up from her book. Eventually, he'd have to shut up, right?

Finally, the train pulled out of King's Cross Station into a morning that grew darker rather than lighter as they rolled north. Rain started tracking down the windows, the wind pushing it into roads and paths along the glass. She stared at them for a while in between reading for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

It started getting cold. Very cold. So cold that Potter and Weasley remarked upon it, though Weasley was still on the floor, the git. Hermione's breath started coming out in white puffs. This had never happened to her on the Hogwarts Express before, so she sought to find the cause. She stood and checked the vent near the ceiling, but there wasn't any chilled air coming through it.

Potter saw what she was doing and shook his head. "I don't think it's coming from anywhere, Granger."

"Sure _she's_ not doing it?" Weasley asked in a sulky voice.

" _I'm_ sure," Hermione retorted, reminding herself that hexing him was against the rules outside of school.

Potter's jaw dropped open and he stared at the window to the passage.

"What the bloody hell?" Weasley scrambled to the opposite side of the compartment.

A huge, dark shape was opening the door and Hermione didn't know what to do about that. She had her wand, though, so she brought it out and pointed it at the thing, though her hand shook. _What should I use? A shield? Can I protect us from this?_

She grew terrified. Sorrow cut into her chest. She felt as if she'd lost every friend she had ever had—not that she'd had many—and would never have another. Ever. She let her wand drop to her side. What was the point?

All at once, though, everything changed. The big black thing entered the cabin and Professor Lupin was on his feet, all traces of weariness gone from him. " _Expecto Patronum_!" he called, his voice commanding in the small space. A white light flared from the tip of his wand and formed into an animal. It attacked the dark thing, driving it off. "Sirius Black is not here. Leave this place. Leave this train!"

Hermione memorized the incantation but had no idea how to duplicate the spell. She just stared in wonder as the professor blew out a breath. "That was incredible," she whispered. "What was that thing?"

Professor Lupin was crouched next to Potter while the Gryffindor was in an apparent faint. "That was a Dementor, Miss Granger. They're used as both punishment and guards at Azkaban."

"I thought I'd never be cheerful again," Weasley muttered from his dark corner.

She didn't acknowledge his comment, but she felt the same. "You made it go away. Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome," the older man said. Potter woke up, but he appeared to be in pain. The professor actually ruffled Potter's hair and reached into his own attaché case. "Here. It's chocolate. Eat it. You'll feel better."

Hermione wished she had some chocolate as well.

* * *

 ** _Hogwarts, 2 October 1993_**

Professor Lupin was a werewolf.

Hermione stared at the parchment in front of her, unable to come to any other conclusion. The question was, what did that mean to her and what should she do with the information?

Somehow, she suspected her Head of House knew about Professor Lupin, which was why he derailed their usual course of study when he came in as a substitute while Lupin was out ill.

"Ill. Of course he was ill," Hermione whispered over her parchment in the Library. If Professor Snape did indeed know of his colleague's condition, he had revealed it in a very subtle manner. So subtle, in fact, that it was possible no one but Hermione herself would even know, since gossip had it that no one was doing the essay, anyway. Not even her own housemates.

"Look, it's not what Lupin assigned for us, he can hardly hold us accountable," Ilana had said as they were making study schedules for the weekend. "Relax, Granger."

Ilana Shafiq had relaxed considerably toward Hermione since their first year. Okay, so really it was only _this_ year that the pure-blood deigned to speak to her as a sentient being, but it was better than it had been, so Hermione was grateful. Of course, heeding Professor Snape's advice had helped, as well.

 _"Do you remember how you won the duel against the Gryffindor twins?" her Head of House asked when he approved her latest spell book purchases._

 _"Tarantallegra?"_

 _He made an impatient sound. "No, Miss Granger. You won because you didn't let them see everything you knew. I thought you'd understood this already."_

 _"I won . . . because I didn't show my hand? As in playing cards?"_

 _He sneered but gave her a short nod. "If that metaphor suits you, then, yes. Knowing is the goal. But what one does with knowledge is a choice, you see?"_

 _"Yes, sir. Thank you, Professor Snape."_

"Well, I'll do it anyway. Perhaps Professor Lupin will give me extra credit." And so she had written out her essay. Two whole scrolls of parchment on werewolves. How they were created, what triggered the transformation, how long they lasted, their social hierarchy, and all that had been gleaned regarding their mating habits.

Which, to her, seemed a horrid thing to study. After all, werewolves were people. At least, most of the time. And they didn't deserve to be treated like a zoological study.

There was also some limited information on how to fight a werewolf, but it was mostly geared toward extremely dangerous curses. In general, people were advised to get to safety behind a heavy door. Or to be an Animagus, because the werewolf in his lupine state didn't seem to have a need to attack animals, so long as they weren't prey animals.

Professor Lupin looked absolutely horrible, tired and drawn, just before the full moon. He didn't teach when the moon was full. And the boggart showed them his greatest fear in front of her fourth-year class. It was the full moon.

Hers was a zombie. The idea of a reanimated corpse completely unnerved her, made her feel as if she were totally powerless and unable to do anything, because you couldn't kill a zombie. Not without the right magic. And she didn't have it. At least it wasn't a boggart manifestation that made people laugh, like spiders or mice or _clowns_.

So she knew about Professor Lupin's lycanthropy, but she kept it to herself. Professor Lupin was the best DADA professor they had had since she came to Hogwarts. She didn't want to out him. She just didn't want to run into him when there was a full moon.

Full moons for the rest of that calendar year were at the end of the month. She could stay inside, then. It wasn't as if she had any business outside anyway.

* * *

 ** _31 October 1993_**

"We're sleeping in the Great Hall?" Patrice Urquhart asked in their common room. They were all gathered, with the seventh years commanding seats on the sofas and chairs, while the rest established the pecking order for the tops of tables, cushions on the floor, to standing on the wall farthest from the warmth of the enormous hearth. Hermione herself was in the back, along with the first years who stood on chairs just to see.

"But that's where everyone else will be," a second year girl said. "And they hate us."

An astute, if unnecessary, observation. Hermione wondered what their Head of House was going to say in answer.

Professor Snape did not disappoint.

"We will not be amongst the other houses, willy-nilly. Each house is to remain in its own area, and the Heads of House will be taking shifts to make sure everyone is where they belong and there are no problems. Other professors will be making rounds, and the Headmaster is assessing the wards."

"But Professor Snape? Is it completely necessary? I won't get a wink of sleep without my favorite pillow."

"Neither will I, Miss Urquhart. Neither will I," their professor said in an airily dismissive manner. "But I agree with the Headmaster when he said that, with an escaped convict possibly on the school grounds, our students will be safer if they are all in one location. As unsettling as it is for some of us." He looked around the room, his eyes only half-open. "If there aren't any _legitimate_ concerns? No? Good." He sighed. "Bring a pillow that you're _comfortable_ with, but the rest of the bedding will be in the Great Hall. Prefects, your job is to see to your assigned floors."

Hermione let her gaze drift to Claire Apperson, the Prefect who normally got tasked with handling any problems from her year. Apperson didn't actually meet her look, but she did appear to be getting her headcount in preparation for leaving the dungeons.

As if there would suddenly be one fewer fourth year student?

Apperson raised her hand in the air. "All right. Get your stuff. Let's meet back here in five minutes."

"Five!" her dorm mates protested as if they'd rehearsed.

"Fine. Seven. Move!"

Six minutes later, having gathered her gear, left Boudicca's cage open so the owl could hunt, and changed into a pair of loungers with a jumper, Hermione was back in the common room, waiting on the rest of those in her year. In Slytherin, the Prefects watched over the first through fourth years and sometimes the fifth years. The sixth and seventh, having passed their O.W.L.s, were considered mature enough not to require nannies.

"Remember," Professor Snape said, his voice carrying to each pair of ears. "On the very, very slight chance you happen to catch a glimpse of Sirius Black, do not attempt to speak to him yourself. He is seeking his godson, Mr. Potter. Inform a professor. We'll handle it."

In the Great Hall, there were sleeping bags, big and fluffy, loosely organized into four sections, but they were pretty close together. Shana moved to one side of their designated area. Hermione wasn't sure if she should seek security in the middle of Slytherin sleepers or just . . . stay on the outskirts. Like always.

She moved to the outskirts of the Slytherin territory and found herself almost within arm's reach of . . . a couple of ginger twins.

 _Whispering_ ginger twins. "Granger. Hey, Granger."

She fluffed up her pillow and met their eyes. Eyes the color of good tea with the sun shining through it as it was poured. She angled an eyebrow at them. "Are you speaking to me?"

George shifted uncomfortably on his pillow. "You, you didn't write us."

"You didn't want to sit with me and talk about things. I figured that was that. I'm apparently not worth your time." Her heart was clenching as she said so, though, and it was almost as if the Dementors were inside the Great Hall. "But, you know, I'm sure you have enough to go on with."

It actually hurt in a physical way for her to turn from twin pained gazes to settle into her own sleeping space. The candles overhead dimmed, the professors wandered around the perimeter of the hall, and the sounds of hundreds of students murmuring unconventional goodnights whispered through the air. Hermione felt for her wand she had tucked into her pillowcase, caressing it through the soft cotton.

A sliding, shuffling sound approached her and she felt someone tugging on a curl of her hair. It only took her a second to slide her wand out and press it between the bones on the intruding hand.

"Right, right, Granger. Letting go."

Professor Snape glanced her way, but seemed inclined to leave her be as she had fended for herself. That was good. "What do you want?" she whispered at Fred.

"To apologize?"

"You don't sound too certain. Think it over, check it out with the _rest_ of Gryffindor, and get back to me. Next year. As you obviously haven't soaked in enough of your house bravery to act for yourselves. Good _night_ , Fred Weasley."

* * *

 ** _18 December 1993_**

"I miss it."

"The map?"

"Yeah." Fred frowned as they started scooping up snow in the courtyard. "I mean, Harry needs it, but yeah. The Marauders were brilliant."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Smashing nicknames." George tossed a snowball and made it hang in the hair. "They're my heroes." He grinned and threw another snowball to collide with the first.

"I bet Prongs was a real ladies' man," Fred said as he amassed enough snow to make some football-sized balls. "Name like that, yeah? _Prongs_ , get it?"

George laughed. "Well, based on that, I'd hate to think about what _Wormtail_ referred to!"

They got the snow together the way they wanted it, and had only to wait until members of their house—and other victims—sauntered past on their way in or out, because not everyone got to go to Hogsmeade if they were stuck at school, getting out in the snow was a good way to spend the day.

They did not expect to see Granger. She was bundled up against the winter, but wasn't paying any attention to the snow. A long green and silver scarf wound around her neck and billowed behind her like a banner.

"Oi, Granger. What're you reading?" Fred didn't plan on talking to her until after the new year, like she'd asked back in October, but . . . there she was. "And will you tell us how you got so good at dueling? I haven't forgotten how you embarrassed us." He smiled when he said it, though, so she would know he was teasing.

Keeping her book open, the girl stopped and faced them directly. "Were you embarrassed because I'm a girl or because I'm younger or because I'm Slytherin?"

Looking her in the eye like that, with her cheeks red from the cold and her head tossed back to confront them— _did_ something to Fred. He felt as if someone jinxed him and charmed him at the same time, but he didn't know with what. And it couldn't have been Granger, because she didn't have her wand out.

She _had_ performed wandless magic before. . .

He darted a glance at his brother. George was staring at her. Hard. "I don't know, Granger," George answered finally. "You said, once, that we'd do things our way, remember?"

Fred had heard about that conversation, but now he envied George for having had it with her. Without him.

 _What the bloody hell?_

He was jolted back to the situation at hand.

"I remember," the girl said. "So your way, apparently, is to talk to me when no one else can hear you. So very, very _Gryffindor_ ," she said with a toss of her curly brown hair.

"What if you'd been sorted into our house?" Fred wondered, part of him wanting that very thing, which was really disconcerting.

"I can't imagine being in another house. What if _you'd_ been sorted into _mine_?" She laughed a little then, squinting her eyes at them. "The green wouldn't clash with the ginger, you know."

At that, the twins stared at one another, each imagining the other draped in Slytherin green instead of Gryffindor scarlet. The laughter rose too easily.

"Well, I agree. You wouldn't last a week in the dungeons." Her tone was playful, which made Fred smile.

"So . . . Will you find us on the train?" Fred asked, juggling three snowballs. He kept his eye on his juggling, but he could still see her with her winter-wind hair and the still-open book.

"We've got some ideas, see," George began.

"And we want to make them work."

Granger looked at them, one at a time, with that sharp focus she had so often. "You know. I don't have friends, right?"

That sliced right through both Fred and George, sharply enough that they not only felt their own pain, but also their twin's. "You have us . . .?" Fred said, more in question than solution.

She slammed her book shut with a sharp sound. "Do I? Two boys who won't talk to me in front of anyone? I might not have had a lot of experiences with friends, but I've seen how they act. And it's not how you act with me. So, no. I _don't_ have you."

"Granger," George said, "you have to—"

"Don't _even_ tell me I have to _understand_ ," she shot back, her voice low, even, and, somehow, really intimidating coming from a girl a year below him in school. "We're hardly Romeo and Juliet. Or even Romeo and Mercutio and Juliet."

Fred had no idea who that was. "Okay. What's that?"

"Are they witches and wizards?"

"Kings or something?"

George saw that the brown-eyed witch was ready to stalk off through the snow and it hit him. "Blimey! They're Muggles, right?"

"Famous ones?"

She sighed impatiently. "Let me guess. The Wizarding world hasn't heard of Shakespeare?"

Fred and George looked at one another and shrugged. "Who?"

"Honestly! Never mind. Just . . . listen." Clutching her book tightly to her chest, Granger reminded George a bit of a professor, which was just plain frightening. "It's easier not to have friends at all than to try to have friends who don't want anyone to know about me, all right? So . . . leave me alone, okay?"

Fred felt like he'd been kicked in the chest and he couldn't seem to breathe as Granger strode rapidly past them. George felt his eyes burning and he didn't even know why.

All they knew was that something important had just walked away and neither of them knew what to do about it.

* * *

 _A/N: She really, really needed to say that. Thanks for reading and have a good weekend! ~ LJ_


	9. Chapter Eight: Family Conversations

_A/N: I like this chapter. If you read_ Casting the Stake _, you know I have an obsession of sorts with being in the Weasley Boy heads when they're confused about Hermione. It's fun. Okay, it's fun for_ **me** _._

 _My thanks to everyone who is reading, reviewing, and adding this story to their lists! Special bow to **arabellagrace** , who caught review #200! :)_

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

 ** _The Burrow, 27 December 1993_**

"What was that charm? The muffling one?" George asked as he propped himself against the head of his bed in the room they shared at home. He was trying to sound casual and relaxed, but it was hard. He and Fred had been tense for weeks, if not months.

Hell, maybe even _years_ , if a bloke went back and got particular about it.

Fred grimaced. He knew what they were going to do, even if they hadn't made it a point to say so. " _Muffliato_ ," he muttered, etching out the accompanying motions with his hand and hoping it would work. He didn't want to alert the Trace. He hoped it would sound as if they were talking but so indistinctly that no one would know what they were talking about—silence, they'd learned, was greeted with suspicion when they were alone. Fred moved about to sit cross-legged on his bed. "So."

"Yeah. You first."

Fred snorted. "Right. This is the thing, Forge. I like her."

"So do I."

Feeling a blush work up his throat, Fred persevered. "I mean, I know we haven't spent loads of time with her, maybe, but I like her. Really _like_ her. This not talking thing is—"

"Hard."

"Yeah. You as well?"

George scrubbed at his hair, his own blush rivaling his twin's. "Yeah. So _this_ isn't awkward at all." He made sure to catch Fred's gaze. "I don't want to fight you over her."

"No! Blimey, George. No. But." He shifted before hitting his head lightly against the wall. "I can't fight you. I mean. We've had our fights, yeah?"

"Well, yeah." George smiled. "Like the time you charmed the shampoo so I smelled like old socks all day."

"The time you made me think my nose wasn't working because of a potion?"

The list went on, but all of the fights, they knew, were over pranks they had played on one another, or stupid decisions that hadn't been thought through well enough. Nothing like this. Nothing where they felt they were _actually at odds_.

Fred felt chilled so he grabbed his Christmas jumper—a blue one, this year—and tugged it on before wrapping a blanket more closely around himself. George dragged his blankets up to his chin.

"I don't like feeling like this." Fred drew his knees up under his blanket. "But, I was, I was _jealous_ , George. Jealous of you. Years ago, you know? When you talked to her and she said—"

"She said we'd act for ourselves, one day." George's voice was soft. "And I told her she was so smart, they'd notice her. One day."

Fred tried for half a smile. "You weren't wrong."

"I know. But she said she didn't have friends, Gred. How can she not? I mean, is she hexing everyone in the Snake Pit?"

"The girl is scary. But I dunno. She should have friends."

"Everyone should have friends."

"Even _Malfoy_ has friends." They snorted in tandem and smiled more naturally at one another. "If she were in our House," Fred said, a wistful air about him, "we'd be her friends."

"Harry as well, likely."

"He mentioned her, you know, once. Asked her about the—"

"Yeah." Neither of the twins liked to discuss the Heir of Slytherin mess and the danger Ginny had been in. That Harry Potter had saved her life made him their hero. George sighed. "So what do we do? About her?"

"She doesn't want to talk to us, anymore. I don't guess there's anything we can do, yeah?"

"Fred. She didn't tell us to get out of her bedchamber." They chuckled, but it had a hint of melancholy to it. "She told us that in the courtyard."

"But who, George?" Fred felt his muscles tighten in some sort of feeling he didn't even understand. "I mean, even talking about this with you—it's confusing. I don't like feeling like, like this."

"Angry?"

"Yeah, like I want to punch you or something."

George nodded, his face more stern than was its wont. "I like her. But I'm not going to fight you about her. If you like her, you should, you know." He made a vague gesture with one hand.

Fred shook his head, both at the gesture and the idea. "No. I mean, I know I'm always first. _You_ should, _you know_ ," he suggested, deliberately mimicking George with a smile.

George laughed. "Honest, Gred. I wouldn't even know how to 'you know' if she showed up on the other side of that door right now."

"You think I do? If she showed up on the other side of that door, I'd—"

A quick knock on that selfsame door had them both almost swallowing their tongues.

"Fred? George?"

No matter how impossible the idea of Hermione Granger showing up at their bedroom door was, George still felt the swift, sharp sting of disappointment when they heard Bill's voice. " _Finite Incantatem_ ," he murmured, to rid themselves of the Muffling charm. "Yeah, Bill? Come on in. We're decent."

Bill had just celebrated his twenty-third birthday and was, in their parlance, "Wicked cool". He worked for the goblins at Gringotts as a curse-breaker, which was dangerous and mysterious. He was letting his hair—a darker red than the twins'—grow and had it tied back with a leather thong. He had even mentioned getting his ear pierced. Mum had shrieked about that, to be sure. This morning, he was wearing his Christmas jumper. Mum had put a W on it instead of a B. The straight lines, Fred thought, were probably easier to knit than the curved ones.

"Well, don't we look serious." Their eldest brother came in and closed the door behind him, leaning against it whilst he surveyed them. Neither Fred nor George moved from where they'd been huddled on their beds. "You _are_ serious," Bill murmured incredulously. "Everything okay? Mum giving you a hard time about something?"

"What? No," Fred said with a quick shake of his head. He exchanged a look with George and they both felt their skin heat with a blush.

Their brother coughed, but it turned into a chuckle. "Wait. Let me guess. Girls?"

Mouth wide open in shock, George didn't even try to dissemble. "How'd you know?" Okay, so it was _one_ girl, but . . . yeah.

With a confident, knowing grin, Bill crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Lucky guess? So? Anything I can do to help? Pass on the best snogging places at Hogwarts? Don't use the broom closets, by the way." His smile was warm with memories. "Too obvious. Plus, Flitwick has some of them charmed. On rotation. You might get lucky or you might get detention." He laughed, a flare of red in each cheek.

"Where're the best spots?" In their excitement, the twins spoke simultaneously. Fred was thinking to gain knowledge for the future, George was thinking distraction from the topic.

Bill tossed his head back a bit. "Well. Depends on which rooms they're using when you're, ah, wanting to use one. Third floor is a good place to look. Also, there's a secret passage off the Entrance Hall, but you have to know how to find it." He then proceeded to tell them a few other places that he remembered, with the proviso to do some advance scouting, because things change, even at Hogwarts.

"So, who are they? Anyone I know?" With a laugh and a shake of his head, he held up his hands. "No, really. Don't tell me. I'd be scarred for life." He eyed them both. "Wait. You look far too relieved. Spill!"

Fred felt his ears almost catch fire. "No."

"You don't know her." George assured him, his tongue nearly stumbling over his words. _Merlin, no_. "Er, younger than you by a long shot, yeah?"

Mischief glinted in Bill's blue eyes. "Would _Charlie_ know her?"

Fred's own eyes went wide and he swallowed. "Er, they . . . met?"

"An older woman!" Bill crowed. Then, his smile disappeared and his expression went altogether serious. "Wait. You said 'her'. As in _one_ girl."

Fred swore. George shushed him, catching his gaze and trying to get him to act less guilty.

Too late, of course. "We're trying to figure it out," Fred said, tossing his blanket to one side, and moving to the edge of his bed to sit like a man, not a kid. "Did you and Charlie ever, you know?" He caught George's eye and they laughed a little, remembering earlier in their conversation.

Bill angled a brow at them but answered the question. "Did we what, fight over a girl? Well, yeah. Once." He grinned and straightened his spine before snagging a chair with his ankle and sitting down. "But with you two? That could be more of a problem, yeah?" He cocked his head and studied them as if they were dark artifacts he was trying to figure out for the goblins.

Made Fred feel a bit odd, really.

"What?" George demanded, sitting on the edge of his bed as well. "What's with that look, Bill?"

"You aren't _really_ going to fight over a girl, are you?"

"Don't want to, no. We were thinking of taking turns, like. You know? George'd go first—"

"Because Fred usually does and he was feeling generous." George rolled his eyes. "But I don't want to fight him, no. We're twins for life!"

"Interchangeable!"

"Inseparable!"

Bill pointed a finger at each of them. "And that's the thing, see." He checked to make sure the door was closed and did a quick _Colloportus_ on it, sketching the motions quickly with his wand. "Did Mum ever talk to you about—"

Fred held up a hand. "Stop!"

"Right there!"

"Got that talk already, thanks so much."

"Dad _and_ Percy!" George gestured with two hands, as if the men in question were on either side of him.

"Like one wasn't—"

"Enough for any man!"

"Shut it, you two! I didn't mean _that_ talk. Merlin, give a man a moment, will you." He blew out a breath and rubbed his hands on his thighs. "Look. I said to talk to Mum because it has to do with our uncles, Fabian and Gideon."

Fred nodded, calming down as if he'd had cold water dumped on his head. "Mum's brothers."

"Twins, like us," George added.

"They were killed just before my eleventh birthday," Bill told them. "I remember them, though. And their girlfriend. One. Singular. She had blond hair and brought me biscuits. Mum wasn't in the Order at the time, but sometimes they met at the Burrow, when they had to. See, something Mum hasn't told you, and Dad probably didn't think to tell you, is that twins are . . . special."

"Well, we knew that."

"Always have," George added with a wink.

Bill held up a hand. "Not all twins. Because most twins aren't identical, right? When we see most twins, some of them look alike, but not totally. In the Muggle world, it's called being fraternal versus being identical."

"We know that," George assured him in a drawl. "Think we haven't researched ourselves?"

"Well, no," Bill answered, "seeing as how you don't know about twins and how things often, er, shake down with relationships. See, identical twins share magic. Like you do, right? Always have."

Fred nodded, his expression serious. "All our lives, yeah. Even our wands are brothers."

"Same core. Same wood."

"Right." They nodded at the same time and Bill smiled when they asked, "So, girls, too?"

"Or boys, yeah. Depending. You should do some reading. Or ask Mum. She would remember her brothers and their girlfriend."

Fred raked a hand over his head. "Mum never talks about them, hardly."

"I know. But. She will if you tell her why you need to know about them and their girlfriend, all right?"

George shook his head. "I'd rather research. Mum would shriek if she heard we were, you know."

"But we're not," Fred retorted. Then, he wiggled his eyebrows. "At least, not yet."

Bill stretched his legs out in in front of him. "Does she, I mean, is it mutual? This girl?"

Fred met George's distressed look. "We, well, it's—"

"Tits up?" Bill guessed.

"More or less, yeah," George allowed after a moment.

"At school?" The twins nodded. "Right, then. Well, try to fix it, yeah? Maybe we can meet her this summer?"

The twins snorted at the same time. "They'd kill us. Ron hates her."

Bill whistled. "Well."

"Rather not say anything more right now," Fred said, getting to his feet and rubbing his hands over his jumper. "But we can research some stuff."

"Don't want to talk to Mum, then?" Bill teased.

"No!"

"Bloody hell, Bill. Might as well draw a target on our arses and let her hex us."

"She can't be that bad, your girl."

George shook his head. "Not ours."

"I'm worried more about Mum and her reaction to any of us dating at school."

Bill made a dismissive sound and stood as well. "Don't worry about her. Just don't get anyone up the duff, yeah?"

Fred and George felt the heat bloom fiercely under their skin. Fred scratched the back of his neck. "Right. No. Right."

"We're only fifteen!"

Bill didn't back down. "You know your spells?"

"Dad _and_ Percy, remember?"

Bill shuddered. "Merlin!"

* * *

 ** _Crawley, 1 January 1994_**

"Hermione, dear. I have been meaning to talk with you about something."

Raptly engaged in reading from her Shakespeare Anthology— _Twelfth Night_ was amusing—Hermione reluctantly disengaged from her time in Illyria and sat up on her bed, leaning against the headboard. "Mom, we had _that_ talk last summer, remember?"

Dr. Emma Granger smiled tolerantly at her daughter. "Yes, pumpkin. I remember. So, did it come in handy?"

"Honestly, Mum. No. I'm only fourteen." She patted her bed to invite her mother to sit down. "What is it?"

Emma pressed her lips together in a considering manner as she settled on the mattress. "I just wanted you to know that, if you're invited to a friend's house over a school holiday, you should consider going. I'd want to meet their parents or guardians, of course, or at least call—"

"Owl?"

Frowning, Emma nodded. "Owl. Yes. Sorry. But I didn't want you to think you had to come home, you know, if you were invited elsewhere."

Hermione dropped her gaze to her open Shakespeare text. "Mum. That's not likely to happen, so you should plan on me being home for the holidays, all right?"

Dr. Granger put on her _Defending My Cub_ face. "Are you still being harassed, Hermione?"

"Actually, no. I'm not." She offered her mum a smile that was, had she but known it, almost a brochure for Slytherin all by itself. "I managed to prove myself and no one bothers me anymore. And, I learned a great deal in the process." Advanced studies in O.W.L. levels and beyond, really. She'd picked up a great deal, helping the older students arrange their studying and by asking them sample questions.

Her mother nodded slowly. "Well, that's good. So, you'll be home for Easter hols?"

"I will. And summer, too, unless something is radically different by then." She smiled at her mum. "Maybe I'll be offered a scholarship or internship or something."

"You never know!"

Of course, Hermione knew she was too young for an internship in the magical world. She still had the Trace on her wand and she couldn't even get her Apparating License until she was seventeen. That was three years in the future. But, she did plan on petitioning to take perhaps an O.W.L. or two before school was out for the summer. That would make things easier for her fifth year.

With that in mind, she spent the rest of her winter holiday drinking mulled cider, going to the cinema, and reading up on Defense. "Bet I could take my DADA exam," she mused out loud the night before she was to return to Hogwarts. "I'll ask Professor Snape."

On the King's Cross platform, she didn't look for Potter or the Weasley twins, though she did see their elder brother Percy looking officious, his Head Boy badge on his school robes as he strutted this way and that. Remembering the laugh she and Fred and George had had about the non-possibility of Percy being a twin, Hermione smiled sadly and boarded the Hogwarts Express.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I know, it's taking them forEVer, right? (And wasn't it fun to see Bill?) But the boys were honestly needing to have this talk (trust me) and Hermione kind of needed to hear this from her mum, too. _

_P.S. Please remember, I can't answer your excellent questions if you aren't accepting PMs or if you sign in as a guest!_

 _See you Friday!_


	10. Chapter Nine: New Lessons

**A/N: My thanks to all y'all reading, adding this story to your lists, and a big smile to those who review!**

 **Note regarding events of Prisoner of Azkaban:** _Things that you might be expecting to see might not actually be here. Because this is Hermione's story (and Fred and George's, but right now mostly Hermione's) and her interests take precedence over the larger issues that affect Harry in the canon timeline. Give Harry some credit; he's a survivor. He will have figured out how to handle things on his own, or he will have found people to help him. This doesn't mean Hermione will never help him, but she isn't involved in most of his concerns at this juncture._

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

 **Hogwarts, 15 January 1994**

She was in Professor Snape's office to ask about the possibility of taking a couple of O.W.L.s early, and he had reminded her—as if she cared—about the Quidditch game. She had no idea why. "But Professor, Quidditch is a blatant waste of my time. I don't _like_ the game, I don't care _who_ wins, and—"

"Miss Granger." Her Head of House scowled down his nose at her from his perch on the edge of his desk. "You are a _pariah_ in our House. You understand this?"

She laced her fingers tightly in front of her but did not look away. The pressure on her knuckles centered her. "I know. But at least no one is hexing me anymore. So that's something."

"Do not settle, Miss Granger."

"I beg your pardon?" Unlacing her fingers she put her hands on her hips. "Settle? Me?"

"Yes. You. You're in a rare place with quite an opportunity. Do not seek to further alienate those who could be your allies."

She opened her mouth to protest, but then remembered that she was Slytherin. And proud to be, as well. "I have heard that the post-Hogwarts bonds are strongest within our House," she mused quietly.

"Indeed. Perhaps stronger still amongst the athletes but we can't all be foolishly reckless on a broom." He stood to cross the room and slide a book from his shelves. "You should go to the game, Miss Granger. We're playing Ravenclaw today. You can show your support without garnering any ill-attention from . . . others you might be wishing to ally yourself with." He sneered, but he also held out the book. "Read this whilst you are there. Theory you'll need."

Hope wriggled in her chest. "Sir?"

"You _were_ coming to inquire about taking your DADA O.W.L., were you not? Have you not been assiduously studying toward that goal all year?" He moved behind his desk and lowered himself into his chair. He did not indicate that she could sit, so she remained standing, clutching the book to her chest. She didn't ask how he knew what she meant to ask him; her Head of House was a Legilimens, rumor had it, and he likely poked about at will, regardless of whether it was allowed or not. Having secrets and keeping them was entirely in keeping with their reputation.

Besides, she trusted him. "I was, sir, yes. I know that fifth year is reputed to be very hard and I'd hoped to enable myself to expand my horizons by getting Defense out of the way this year, if I might, to allow me to concentrate elsewhere next year." She glanced down at the volume he'd given her. "This would help a great deal."

"It should." His lip curled derisively. "You are possibly the only student of your age to know that, however. And yes, of course I know your actual _age_ , Miss Granger." She nodded and he accepted _her_ acceptance with the barest hint of relaxation between his brows. "So. Go to the game, if you will deign to take my advice as your Head of House. Go. Take the book and read if you wish, but be aware of any score that Slytherin makes. Young Malfoy is our Seeker, now, and he's got it out for you, you know."

"I know, sir. And I know he's your godson; he's said so."

"Of course he has. So watch. Clap, put a smile on your face, and if our House wins, attend the victory party. Do not expect to be noticed, of course."

"I'm a pariah." She nodded; it didn't bother her to be one.

He looked rather more disgruntled. "You should not be. You will need to overcome that if you wish to succeed in our world, Miss Granger." She gaped at him, feeling as if she'd been hit by a Bludger—and she didn't even play Quidditch. He leaned forward, steepling his hands in front of his nose. "Miss Granger. Surely a young woman of your intellect has considered her life after school. Seeking wider opportunities and so forth?"

"Of course, sir, but—"

"But. Surely you've noticed that Muggle-born witches are not given instant access to the upper echelon of our society."

"Well, no, but I felt if I applied myself I—"

"You could . . . what?" he asked, interrupting her again. "Become something more than a glorified research assistant in the Ministry?"

She felt all the color leave her face. "May I sit?"

He waved at the chair. "Yes, yes. Before you faint." He sighed and stared hard at her. His dark eyes were not warm, but neither were they derisive. He seemed to be thinking of how to say something.

She waited.

"You are known as the only Muggle-born sorted into our House in over a century. You have a reputation for academic excellence, though your earliest months as a blatantly know-it-all swot will always follow you. You are also known as a duelist of some skill," he added, making her blush uncomfortably as he angled a brow at her. "As you say, no one is hexing you any longer. However, that will not serve as a life goal, will it?"

"No, sir. So what do you recommend?"

"Here at Hogwarts, we normally go over career options and so forth in a student's fifth year. You and I will still do so, Miss Granger, but tell me, what other O.W.L.s were you hoping to gain permission to take this year?"

Flustered, she blushed and looked down at the advanced defensive theory book in her hands. "History of Magic, sir."

"Not Muggle Studies?"

She met his sardonic expression with an indignant one of her own. "What good will that do me, here?"

"Exactly my point, Miss Granger. I will approve of you taking History of Magic—it's just a written exam, of course, without a practical—and Defense. If you go to the Quidditch matches and endeavor to remember that your next goal, as it were, will be to better integrate yourself within our House."

The prospect unnerved her, but she swallowed hard. "I'll try, sir."

"How did you get dueling partners, Miss Granger?"

"I, I bribed them?"

He did not quite roll his eyes, but spoke deliberately, as if to a tiny child. "You exchanged strengths for a mutually beneficial end. Think on how to apply this. And good day."

She rose when he did, feeling quite unsettled as she left his office. "I need to make a plan," she muttered once she got to her dorm.

* * *

She went to the game, her Slytherin scarf in plain sight while her new book was hidden. "It's freezing out here," she grumbled as she made her way up the stands so as to be near people in her House. Shana Shacklebolt was bundled up with Blaise Zabini, who was a year below them. She sat next to Shana and pulled her winter cloak more tightly about herself.

"Granger? At a game?" Shana looked shocked, but that was to be expected. "You didn't say you were going, before. Have you met Blaise?"

The exotic boy nodded. "We've met. Granger."

"Zabini." He was one of Malfoy's nearest and dearest, so they had nothing to say to each other. "And yes, Shacklebolt. I'm at a game. I'm proud to be a Slytherin."

"That, I've never doubted," her dorm mate acknowledged with a nod, snuggling closer to her date of the afternoon. Hermione wondered if she should ask about that relationship once they got back to the dorms, later.

Zabini caught her eye over Shana's head. "Think any other Mud, er Muggle-borns will be sorted into our House, Granger?"

Astonished to be asked such a question—and by him—Hermione gave it a bit of thought. "Don't know. If they were, I'd like them to have a _How to Survive Slytherin_ guide for their first year, though." She smiled, but not at either of her housemates. She could smile, now; she'd made it this far, hadn't she? "I'd like to think that there would be more, eventually, so that they wouldn't feel so out of place, here."

Zabini shrugged. "Wouldn't think they'd want to be discriminated against." Shana offered Hermione a look that silently asked her not to take offense.

She didn't. "From what Professor Snape was telling me earlier today—"

"So _that's_ why you're here!" Shana interjected with a laugh.

Hermione ignored that and continued. "Discrimination against Muggle-borns is out there no matter which House they're sorted into." She paused and offered him a challenging look. "Maybe I can work on that."

Zabini didn't respond, but she sensed he was watching to make sure she cheered at all the right places. And when Draco swooped in after the Snitch, Hermione made herself cheer with all the rest of her House.

She did absolutely no reading.

* * *

 ** _20 January 1994_**

"Well done, Miss Granger. Ten points to Slytherin," Professor Lupin allowed as she deflected the hex and sent it on to bounce off the shield he constructed. "If we hadn't been shielded, you would have sent Miss Urquhart quite a pair of antlers. The _Anteoculatia_ is rather disturbing and disorienting, as Mr. Ingraham has discovered," he noted with an apologetic look toward their unfortunate classmate, "but it doesn't cause any lasting harm so long as it is countered soon."

"Thank you, Professor. But, if the curse isn't harmful, why do we learn it? What kind of a weapon is it if it doesn't serve in a fight?"

Professor Lupin smiled at her, a light in his green eyes that made her understand he welcomed the challenge presented. This, in her opinion, was what set him apart as a superior professor, even if he _had_ been a Gryffindor. "Excellent question. Not many actually consider the value of some hexes in a battle, so well done. The main value of this type of curse depends upon who is casting it and for what purpose. For example, I happen to know that a set of antlers can be a formidable weapon in a fight, if a witch or wizard knows how to use them. They grow long, if the caster is experienced using this spell, and will have sharp tips that can rip and shred in unexpected ways. As a weapon, a pair of antlers is quite effective." He smiled at Edward Ingraham. "So consider practicing working with that, if you feel you can hold your head up, Mr. Ingraham. And tell us, how did it feel, having them all of a sudden?"

"I wanted to fall over, Professor." His look was a bit surly, dark blue eyes narrowing. "I almost did, actually."

"Very good. And how might that be of use, to answer Miss Granger's question?"

Hermione beamed inwardly, enjoying how Professor Lupin was handling the situation. She had a great deal of respect for him and, she acknowledged to herself, perhaps a small crush. But she was sure that was _only_ because he treated her as a human being and not a side-show freak who didn't belong in a magical school, combined with his obvious gift for teaching, and the fact that he was a werewolf yet kept that under wrapping as he interacted daily with his students. She didn't let herself stare at him, though, not ever. No one in her House could know, because it would give them a weapon to use against her and she had spent years doing her best to protect herself.

Ingraham touched the protruding antlers on his forehead, eyeing Hermione with a bit of resentment that she really didn't blame him for. "Well, it surprised me, since the hex came out of nowhere. And these hurt, coming out of my head." She nodded in acknowledgment, but really, it was _DADA_. Pain happened. He continued. "My balance went off and I wasn't sure what to do. I think in a duel, or a fight that wasn't so formal, it would be effective in disrupting your opponent. But," he added, a light in his eye that made Hermione touch her wand to reassure herself, "you also gave me that weapon, so someone better know how to defend against them."

"Or cancel the hex," Professor Lupin said smoothly. "This is a basic hex-breaker, so if you don't know this, learn it."

Ingraham mastered that one immediately and Hermione never said she knew it already.

After class, she was slow to collect her books, confident that no one was lurking to wait for her. It was her last class of the day. When all had gone, and Professor Lupin was patently waiting for her to finish so he could go, too, she slung her school bag over her shoulder and spoke. "Professor Lupin."

"Yes, Miss Granger?" His expression was patient, but his body language said he wanted to leave.

"I have been given permission by my Head of House to take my O.W.L. in Defense early. This year, actually." His brows rose high enough to surprise her, but she persevered. "I was just wondering, sir, if you could teach me how to defend against a Dementor, as you did on the train in September."

He pursed his lips and lifted his chin. "You want to learn to produce a Patronus?"

"Yes, sir."

He pressed his lips together and leaned back against the teacher's desk. "Miss Granger, a Patronus is not a requirement to pass the O.W.L. As a matter of fact, there are many fine witches and wizards who never learn to produce one at all."

She didn't want to handle it in an underhanded manner, not really, but keeping secrets was beneficial when one could use the keeping of said secret as a tool for advancement. She executed a wandless _Muffliato_ , as Professor Snape had taught her, catching her Defense professor by surprise.

"Miss Granger . . . !"

With a nod, she acknowledged his approval and astonishment, but didn't address it. "I know why your boggart is the full moon, Professor Lupin. I have since October, but I've told no one, because you are the finest Defense professor I've had."

His eyes narrowed and she caught the faint flare of amber in their depths. She inhaled and exhaled, ignoring the brief jump of her heartbeat. He was entirely trustworthy and a wonderful teacher and she was in no danger. "Miss Granger. I cannot guarantee that even if I endeavored to instruct you on this that you'd be able to produce one. Not everyone can."

"I understand, sir. But I want the opportunity to learn. And if I want to pass my O.W.L. with an O a year early, I'll need every possible tool at my disposal."

"Blackmail is an ugly word, Miss Granger," he countered, pushing himself from the desk and standing with his legs in a strong dueling position. "But perhaps what I should expect from one of your House."

"I am not unacquainted with Gryffindors, sir. I've spent time with Potter and the Weasley twins. They've even asked for my help, on occasion." At his incredulous look, she shrugged. "I've even bested the twins during dueling. I just want to do my best, sir."

"And will you take an oath not to expose me?"

She was offended, but the question wasn't unexpected. "If I must. Though I've kept it to myself for months and I believe I've proven trustworthy."

"Fair enough. I am actually already doing a private tutorial on this precise exercise, Miss Granger. Let me give it some thought, as I don't want to lessen the other lesson through adding another student."

"Fair enough," she echoed. Extending her hand, she attempted to seal the deal.

He cocked his head at her, studying her face rather than her extended hand. She held still, but kept breathing evenly, aware of his alter-ego lurking in his eyes. "I'll give you my decision on or before our next class meeting."

"Thank you, sir. Have a good evening."

She didn't see him blow out a heavy breath upon her departure, nor wipe his forehead free of a sudden sweat.

* * *

The morning owls delivered a brief missive to her three days later.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _Your terms are acceptable. Tutorial schedule to be decided._

 _~RJL_

She controlled her triumphant, eager smile and nodded before tucking the note into her school bag.

* * *

 _A/N: Next time: It's Fred & George's birthday! Have a good weekend!_


	11. Chapter Ten: Punching Malfoy in the Face

_**A/N:** Oh, look! It's Fred  & George's birthday! And Hermione is nice to them. _

_My gratitude to all who have been reading and reviewing this AU! Special bows to **julesrulesfools** , who caught review #300! Thank you!_

 _Also a reminder: This story was complete on my end **before** I began posting._

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

 ** _Hogwarts, 1 April 1994_**

"Did _not_ expect to be spending our birthday in the library, Fred," George muttered, his head bent over his Herbology notes.

"Well, we got that owl from Mum and Dad. And those presents from Bill and Charlie." Fred blushed, though, because it was clear that Bill and Charlie had communicated. Their mum would be right pissed off if she knew her oldest (and entirely respectable) sons had bought them copies of that wizard magazine with the _instructive_ pictures of pretty witches.

Revision continued, for the young men were determined to do well on their chosen exams. "We've got plans," they would remind one another when it seemed that working so hard was getting them nowhere. "We can do this."

So they did, reading, making notes, and drafting ideas on another parchment they shared between them that read _Practical Applications for the Future_.

After a while, a paper bird wafted its way over their heads, then another one joined it. The birds were each wearing a tiny Gryffindor scarf. "Hello," George said with a pleased smile in his eyes. "Who're you?"

Fred eyed them more suspiciously as they landed. "Wish Bill were here to check 'em for hexes."

"It's our birthday! Who'd hex us?"

They heard a muffled snort not too far away and froze. Then, a grin tugged at identical faces. _So that's who_ , they said silently to one another.

"I'll just pull on the scarf, shall I?" Fred volunteered, feeling ridiculously happy about it, all things being equal.

George didn't even glance in the direction of their invisible audience. "I'll hide under the table." He did as he said he would, sliding from his chair to sit at Fred's feet under the library table. He was grinning up at his twin, though. If this was really whom they thought? It'd be a landmark present. Even if it was just a note.

"One, two, three!" Fred pulled the scarf on his paper bird and it exploded open. "Ah, it's safe, Forge," he declared with a nod. "Come on up and open yours."

George did and they read the notes within together.

 _George and Fred~_

 _Happy birthday._

 _If you can find me,_

 _My gift to you is privacy._

 _Happy revising!_

 _~ Hermione Granger_

Fred arched a brow at George, who cocked his head just so and they folded their birthday birds back up before heading out in two different directions. She was clever—brilliant, really, they believed—but she hadn't mastered the art of stealth. Her breaths were audible as they hunted her down and Fred found himself growing more and more excited as the silent chase continued.

George found her first, blocking one end of a row of books and pretending to look about, crouching down, stretching up, until Fred caught on.

Then, they moved in. "Granger," George whispered. "We've found you."

"And we're dying for our present."

A scroll emerged from the empty space in front of them and set off floating over the shelves.

"Oi! No fair, Granger!" They both of them took off to find it before Madam Pince called them out for making too much noise in the Library.

When they reached the scroll, on the floor in the next row of books, they exchanged a look of triumph.

"Got it, Granger!" Fred informed her.

George looked a bit sad, though. "I bet she left us."

Fred's face fell as well, but he picked up the parchment scroll and they headed back to their table, waving and smiling at Madam Pince. "It's our birthday," Fred whispered loudly.

She sniffed and resumed her stalking patrol of the Library.

Fred opened the scroll once they'd taken their seats again. "Cor, Forge, look at this!"

"The Disillusionment Charm!"

"That right there would come in handy, yeah?"

George nodded. "Look, she said there are two different kinds, but she's only giving us the one for personal disillusionment."

"Well, she did say privacy."

"Yeah." He leaned back in his chair. "How'd she know it was our birthday? And when's hers? I feel like a gormless piece of shite, here."

"She might have heard us, if she were pulling that invisible act while we were talking."

"Well, we can't let her best us, now, can we?"

Fred grinned and shook his head. "That would be a blot on the good House of Gryffindor."

* * *

 ** _2 April 1994_**

The common room was quiet, save for the crackling and snapping of the wood in the fire, as were the corridors leading to the different dormitories. Hermione was reading the thank you note she'd received by aeroplane from the twins and had to smile.

 _Granger - Playing hide and hide in the stacks was at least as fun as getting our present! Thanks so much. - F & G Weasley_

She hadn't meant to talk to them, but when she'd heard it was their birthday, she had felt like she wanted to do something . . . so she had. Just a little something. They had appreciated it, too, apparently. "Hide and hide in the stacks indeed," she murmured fondly as she folded her note up and tucked it into a pocket.

"Bollocks. The Mudblood is here." Malfoy and his friends strode in as if he owned the dungeons, trying to make his robes billow like Professor Snape's, undoubtedly.

"Lovely. The albino snake has slithered in," Hermione countered, sliding her wand from the back pocket of her jeans. "Why aren't you home?"

"Why aren't you?"

She gripped her wand tightly as Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle spread out a bit. This was far too familiar to a primary school fight. But she was fourteen, not nine, and she could handle them. "I'm going to be revising for exams," she told the third year. "What's your excuse?"

"My parents are in France on business."

"Nice. Well. I'm going to go to the Library, so if you'll excuse me?"

The blond imitation tyrant puffed out his narrow chest. "No. I don't think I will."

She didn't pause, but cast the _Anteoculatia_ curse on both Crabbe and Goyle while Malfoy was getting his wand out of his pocket. Both of his henchmen—bigger in size than she was by quite a bit—cried out and bashed themselves about as she turned her attention to Malfoy.

" _Expelliarmus_!" he called out.

Merlin! He had learned something in the dueling club, hadn't he? Hermione fumed, but clenched her fists and bent her knees a bit to give herself some stability. "Let me pass," she demanded. She was about the same height as he was, and they were both slender, so she judged she could push past—or worse—if necessary. So, she moved to reclaim her wand and get out of the common room.

"You don't deserve to have a wand, Mudblood!" And he threw her wand into the hearth!

This was something so unexpected that Hermione had no idea how to react. Heart pounding, she leapt to the hearth and tried to grab the wand. She was entirely focused, so didn't feel the licking fire or the blisters that erupted on her skin. She only knew the relief of victory as she got her wand back and turned to confront the wand-burning thief. "You!" With all the rage he had provoked and all the pain that was igniting now along the nerves of her hands, she threw herself at Draco Malfoy, punching him in the face twice before the agony of her burns stopped her.

"My father will hear about this!" he promised, one hand over one eye and the other on his jaw.

Hermione didn't care. She didn't hear Crabbe and Goyle crying and shouting about how unfair it all was. She just gripped her wand tightly and left the common room.

Professor Snape was striding rapidly toward her, his frown etched deeply into his forehead. "Miss Granger. I was in the entrance hall when Peeves actually came to find me."

Her hands. On fire. She barely registered her Head of House's words, only offering up her clenched fists and her wand. "Miss Granger. Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey. Anyone else hurt?"

"Malfoy. Henchmen."

Professor Snape paused a moment before circling her shoulders lightly with one arm. Then, he did something that astonished her. He cast a Patronus!

When the smoky white doe appeared from his wand, he spoke to it. "To Minerva McGonagall. To the dungeons, please. It seems we have some injured young men in my house. Malfoy and his friends. I have Miss Granger. To the infirmary." Then, he flipped his wand and the doe pranced off on her errand.

"You can— Professor! That was beautiful."

"Tell no one, Miss Granger."

She blinked but agreed, and then the pain again overcame her vocal abilities so that she sank into silence, concentrating only on keeping her feet moving in whatever direction the professor indicated and not crying out. Not at all. Once, she'd been burned at a bonfire. Not a huge burn, but one on her leg. It had been pretty bad and she had felt as if she had a match held to her skin for hours. Her hands were like that multiplied by a hundred. Each step became jarring, so she shuffled her feet, uncaring if it irritated Professor Snape.

Thankfully, he said nothing more until they reached the infirmary. "Poppy?"

"By Circe's own gown, what happened, Severus?"

"You'll have to ask her. I'll be back. I need to see to the others."

"Others?!"

Hermione barely noticed when the professor left the infirmary. She only heard Madam Pomfrey ask, "Was this natural fire, Miss Granger, or spell damage?"

"Fire, Madam Pomfrey," she said through gritted teeth.

"Well, that makes this easier, then. Here." With a wave of the matron's wand, the pain dissipated from Hermione's hands and she almost collapsed in relief. "Now, let me do a diagnostic and get you in a bed, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Here's a pain potion, Miss Granger. I'll put a salve on your hands and bind them up. They should be all right come evening, but I'll want to make sure your movements aren't hampered in any way."

"Yes, ma'am." She drank the potion given to her and kicked off her shoes so that the matron could help her out of her clothes and into one of those dreadful infirmary robes that never looked good on anyone.

At length, Pomfrey asked, "So, how did this happen?"

"I was heading to the Library, when Malfoy, Crabbe, and Doyle came into the common room and decided to fight me. Everyone else had apparently gone home for the holidays or were revising elsewhere. Malfoy disarmed me but then he threw my wand into the fire, saying something about me not deserving one or something." Tears burned at the remembered anger and fear. "I didn't think, ma'am. I just tried to get my wand out and used my hands. I should have tried to Summon it, perhaps."

"Wandless? My dear girl, don't be absurd. You're only fourteen. There, there," she said, using a cloth to wipe Hermione's wet cheeks. "Your wand looks to be in fine shape. You can check with Professor Snape when he returns." Madam Pomfrey laid the wand gently on the bedside table. "Now just be still and don't jar your hands."

She lay there in trepidation of that return, knowing she'd acted like an idiot, knowing she'd actually punched Professor Snape's own godson in front of witnesses. How foolish had that been? And her wand! Did it still work?

After a quick check to see if she was being observed, she reached for the precious ash wood wand with its dragon heartstring core. With her fingers encased like the veriest mummy's, she couldn't feel the intricate carvings of her beloved wand, but she hoped it would work anyway. It had worked while she wore gloves and mittens, hadn't it? " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," she whispered almost soundlessly, directing her attention to her day clothes that had been draped at the foot of the bed. They floated peacefully in the air and she sighed with relief. "Well, that's something, yes?"

Clutching her wand between bandaged fingers, she felt the stress of the prior half-hour or so fall heavily upon her. Or perhaps it was the pain potion. In any event, her eyes grew heavy and her brain tried to go away.

"Merlin! What happened!" Shouts just beyond the door kept Hermione from falling into a blissful unconsciousness.

She thought she heard Madam Pomfrey swear. "Really, boys, I have a patient!"

Deciding she could find out what was happening better if she kept her eyes closed, Hermione feigned sleep as Professors Snape and McGonagall brought Malfoy and his henchmen into the Infirmary. "Poppy," Professor McGonagall said, "if you would get the antlers off their heads, that would be helpful."

"Mr. Malfoy, here, could just use a pain potion," Professor Snape remarked, sounding casual.

Madam Pomfrey's voice was huffy, but quiet. "After what he did to Miss Granger? I'm inclined just to let him deal with the consequences of his actions!"

"She's just a Mud—"

"And that will be enough of _that_ ," McGonagall declared with a harrumph.

"She is of our House, Mr. Malfoy." Professor Snape's voice moved nearer to her bed and Hermione guessed she'd have to "wake up" in a moment. "It is the custom of Slytherin to defend those in our House, not attack them. Be grateful that her wand did not suffer permanent damage."

Hermione fluttered her eyelids and winced as she moved without thought in her effort to pretend to be waking up. "Ow. Oh, hello, Professor."

His eyes were distant, but still conveyed a bit of humor as he nodded at her. "Miss Granger. I see you have your wand."

"Yes, sir. It works, too."

"Of course it does. All right, then. I'll have someone bring you your books for your revisions."

"Thank you, sir."

As he moved away, she looked toward her housemates, who were being treated by Madam Pomfrey while the two Heads of House were conferring quietly. Crabbe and Goyle had their antlers mostly banished by virtue of the hex-removal incantation, but the matron still had to give them something else. Perhaps they'd been antlered too long?

Malfoy was drinking a potion and glaring at her. She didn't drop her gaze but met his glare with an impassive look that she hoped conveyed how very little she regarded him, for that was the best approach to the arrogance of Draco Malfoy.

They didn't speak, but still Hermione knew she'd best be prepared to shield herself as soon as she left the Hospital Wing.

* * *

"Eating is a bit difficult," she told Madam Pomfrey when a house-elf brought dinner.

The matron smiled knowingly. "Shall I ask them for something liquid, then?"

"With a straw?"

"Of course."

Though the roasted chicken and steamed vegetables were appealing and had her mouth watering, Hermione nodded and leaned back from her tray. "Please and thank you, Madam Pomfrey. You said my hands should be better this evening, though."

"They should be, but I'm not going to check under the dressings until later. You should probably stay here this evening."

With a sigh, Hermione quickly reviewed her options. If she pushed, she might be able to get back to her dorm, but if she didn't know her hands were back to being functional, she would be at a disadvantage in a potentially hostile environment. "All right. Thank you."

"Oh, look, you appear to have guests." The matron sent her a curious look. "Again."

A pair of redheads strode confidently into the Infirmary. "Hello, Madam Pomfrey!"

"Came to see the witch who punched Malfoy in the face."

"Brilliant work there, Granger!"

Fred grinned at her and showed what he was carrying. "We brought your books. McGonagall said Snape said you'd need them to revise."

George cocked his head and studied her. "Also brought you a quill and ink."

"But I don't think you can use them, yet." Fred still set the books down on her bedside table. "We can plump pillows, though."

"Or we can ask—" George sat on a chair on the other side of her bed and spoke quietly. "Why you've got such advanced books for DADA."

" _We're_ the ones taking the O.W.L.s this year," Fred reminded her. As if she needed reminding.

"If you'd let me speak, I'd tell you. That is _if_ you're speaking to me, now."

They blushed, as she had half expected, but still she felt a flutter in her middle and tried to keep the smile off her face as Pomfrey joined them with that same odd expression in her eyes. An expression that said she didn't thoroughly _understand_ what she was seeing, but she didn't _disapprove_. Exactly.

"Here's your dinner, Miss Granger," the matron said, making sure Hermione had a grip on the tall glass. She left, then, saying, "I have my door open."

Which again brought a blush to the twins' faces. Which made Hermione want to smile again. And while she could suppress the smile, she could do nothing about the sense of anticipation and happiness that surged within her. For no apparent reason.

"What happened to your hands, Granger?" Fred asked with a frown. "Did you hurt them on Malfoy's face?"

"No. I burnt them getting my wand out of the fire." They gasped and looked horrified, identical faces making identical expressions of disbelief. She made a dismissive gesture with her dinner-drink. "Really. It was my own fault. I should have _Accio'd_ my wand, but I wasn't thinking."

At that, George made an obvious effort to be lighthearted. "Well, of course. Next time, you'll know better."

She smiled. "Of course."

"So, why all the DADA books? And would you help us, if you're so fond of revising?"

"I'll be taking my Defense O.W.L. as well. And History of Magic."

Fred's brows rose high into his forehead. "Really, Granger? A year ahead?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Course not!"

"Just a surprise."

George met her gaze with a warm smile that gave her a swooping sensation in her midsection. "To be expected, really."

"Now that we think of it." Fred reached out to tug one of her messy curls.

She took a long pull on her straw, and found her liquid meal to be thick, tepid, and tasting as if someone _tried_ to make it taste like chocolate. She was distracted when the twins seemed to watch the process with a disconcerting intensity of focus. It made her blush and she didn't know why and she wasn't going to ask them, either. "So," she said when she'd swallowed. "You're staying here over the holiday to revise, too? For your O.W.L.s?"

Fred blinked and George nodded, both of them with another blush racing under their freckled skin. Her breath caught as if she'd been running, so she tried to calm herself. She had nothing to fear from the twins.

"Yeah. We're both taking Defense and Charms. And then we're each doing another one. I've got Herbology."

"I've got Transfiguration." Fred tipped an imaginary hat to her.

Shocked, Hermione set her drink on the bedside table. "Only three?" They nodded, looking both proud and defensive. "But, but why? I know we don't have classes together, but we have talked on the train and such. You're brilliant," she whispered, trying to get each of them to look her square in the eye. "Why limit yourselves?"

Fred and George stared at one another as if they could practice simultaneous Legilimency. Maybe they could. Magical identical twins might have all kinds of resources she'd never heard of. She studied them whilst they did whatever they were doing. She'd been studying them for years.

So . . . maybe she had a crush on them. _Both of them?_ her subconscious wondered. _Both of them_. How could she just choose one? They were a pair and always had been. At least, they were to her. _Great, so now I've got a crush on my Defense Werewolf_ and _the Weasley Twins. Good thing I'm a Slytherin, yeah?_

"Can you keep a secret?" Fred whispered, bringing her back from her reverie.

She nodded. "It's what we do in my House."

The boys nodded, lips pressed together in twin thin lines. "Right," George murmured. "See. This is the thing. We have plans. We want to open a shop."

"We'll be working on product development over the summer and then start small, testing and such. Maybe go owl-order, yeah?" They both peered closely into her face, searching for something.

She didn't know what it was, though, so she kept her expression calm and accepting. "That's a good plan. Will you have enough mastery between you to pull it off?"

"Wait. So you think this is a good idea?" Fred asked, looking suspicious.

"I just said so, didn't I?"

"She didn't give us a hard time, Fred," George reminded his brother. "Just asked us _why_ about the exams."

"Right." Hermione reached for her drink and took another sip through her straw, watching to see if the boys had that unusual reaction to that again.

They did! Meaning to ask why, she pulled the straw from her lips a bit too quickly, so that some of the liquid meal flipped out to her lips. She flicked her tongue out to get it back and the boys both did the same, as if licking something off of their own lips.

Her mouth went suddenly dry and a hundred little comments and images, seen at school and during vacations, clicked in her head as if the pieces of a big puzzle magically put themselves together. Lips. Tongue. Sucking something. . .

They were thinking about _that_. She'd made them think about _that_.

 _Great, now I'm thinking about it too. Kissing and . . . what was it that I caught that couple doing in France when they thought they were behind their umbrella?_

Her cheeks bloomed with embarrassment and she winced in a bit of pain as she gripped her drink. The silence had gone on a long time, too, and she was feeling more than a little self-conscious. She was about to plead exhaustion when Fred spoke.

"We, we have to go." They stood up with mirrored movements of their bodies.

"Yeah, revise, right? Er, can't let a fourth year score better than us, can we?"

"We've got some _research_ to do. In the _Library_." Fred nudged his brother, nodded at her in what she thought was a significant manner, and then offered her a small smile.

"Wait." She held up one bandaged hand and they made identical expressions of concern. "Does this mean you're speaking to me in public, now?" She had to ask because she had to _know_. If they were going to turn her down, she could squash her little incipient crush underneath the weight of her private embarrassment. Additionally, they were alone at the moment, so the humiliation factor was low. It wasn't as if they'd say anything, after all. And she certainly wouldn't.

"Granger," George began with a soft voice, "It's not that we don't want to."

"We do," Fred said, sincerity in every freckle on his expressive face. "Believe us."

"It's just that it's—"

"Complicated."

" . . . Understand?" they asked together.

"No." After her brief burgeoning of hope following her new discoveries of minutes ago, the pain of rejection burned in her eyes. Pride strengthened her voice to say, "No, I don't think I do. But thank you for bringing my books," she went on, trying to sound as if it didn't matter. "I hope your revising goes well and I wish you the best on your exams. Good evening." She could hide her shame and hurt as well as any Slytherin, couldn't she?

She picked up her wand and set about arranging her books around her on her bed, not watching as Fred and George left the Infirmary.

When Madam Pomfrey came to check on her half an hour later, she was deeply immersed in her revising and barely acknowledged the interruption.

* * *

 _A/N: Okay, so it didn't **last** , but there was progress... If the suspense is killing you, I can answer the "When" question if you PM or review. See you Friday!_


	12. Chapter Eleven: DADA OWL

**_A/N:_** _I tinkered with the dates here, so that I could work things around the O.W.L.s, rather than the end of term exams._

 _Many welcomes to all those who are adding_ Brilliant Magic _to their lists. Many thanks to all who are reading and reviewing! It's lovely to have you along._

 _To the Guest who asked the "When" question in their review: I would have loved to have answered you, but you didn't sign in!_

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

 ** _Hogwarts, 17 June 1994_**

Fred and George Weasley were on edge as they entered the Great Hall on the day of their final O.W.L. exam. "Breakfast first," George muttered. "We promised Mum."

"My stomach is so tight, I don't know if I can eat," Fred retorted. Then, he looked up. "Oh, hello, Professor Lupin."

Their Defense professor looked exhausted but rather pleased with himself and offered them a smile. "Hello, gentlemen. I understand you're taking the Defense O.W.L. today?"

"Yes, sir," the boys said in unison.

Fred tried to smile. "May I say, sir, that you look a lot less stressed than we do?"

Lupin laughed lightly. "Well, I daresay I do, yes. I've got my final exam for all my years ready to go. An obstacle course, of sorts." When he smiled, his green eyes twinkled and the scar that cut through his right cheek folded over. "You would have done quite well with it, I'm sure. Though," he went on to add as the three of them walked slowly toward the Gryffindor table, "I'm sure you'll do quite well on your exam today. Remember, written first. Then you'll have a break whilst the proctors do individual practicals." He clapped each twin on the shoulder. "You'll do fine."

"Thank you, Professor," George managed to say without choking. Lupin strode to the faculty table, head held high. George stood for a moment after Fred sat down, looking for _her_. And there she was, at the Slytherin table, on the end as always; no one sitting near her, as always. Seemingly still a pariah. Still, Hermione Granger exhibited no nerves; indeed she appeared calm and ready, with her wildly curly hair tamed into a thick braid over one shoulder, her school robes looking as if she were advertising for Madam Malkin's shop, drinking tea as if today weren't an O.W.L. exam. A hard one. And she was taking it a year ahead of schedule.

Before she felt him staring, George sat down next to Fred. "Relax," his twin whispered. "Almost done now, yeah?"

"Yeah, that we are. And this summer, we'll get to work for real."

"Right you are, twin o'mine. Right you are." Fred filled a glass with pumpkin juice. "But what are we going to do about _her_?"

After they'd seen Hermione's straw-action back during spring hols, both of them had been _extremely_ glad they wore school robes.

 _"And it's not just the oral thing, either," George had said to Fred as they'd lain in their beds that night, staring up at the canopies overhead. "It's that she's so smart, you know? Like, a challenge, yeah?"_

 _"But that's not why you were giving yourself a wank just now."_

 _"You, either!"_

 _"Ever think about how Bill, Charlie, and Percy all did the same thing in this tower?"_

 _George made a disgusted moan. "No! Merlin! I need to_ Scourgify _my brain, now!" Still, he couldn't help but think of it. Likely, one of his brothers_ had _wanked in that very room. "Merlin," he moaned again._

 _"What are we going to do about her?" Fred wondered, sounding sad._

 _George propped himself up on his elbow to look at his brother. "Owl her over the summer?"_

 _"Show up on her doorstep with flowers?" Fred smiled at the overhead canopy._

 _"Bring treats for her owl."_

 _"Honeydukes chocolate!"_

 _"A new quill!"_

 _"Something from our new product line!"_

 _George chuckled and lay back, hands clasped behind his head. "That'd be something, wouldn't it?"_

 _"It would, Forge. It would."_

 _"Bill said we should invite her to the Burrow."_

 _"Mum wouldn't know what to do."_

 _"Dad would love that she's a Muggle-born."_

 _"First," Fred said, sounding serious for the moment. "We have to talk to her. At school. In front of everyone." He moved to sit up, waiting until George did likewise so that they could talk eye to eye. "I can't hardly bear to see her, you know? I want to talk to her, but—"_

 _"But if we do," George went on, verbalizing their thought process as they so often did when they worked things out together, "we have to know what we want, first. So that we start off without having to make awkward adjustments, later."_

 _"Yeah. That book . . ."_

 _"Yeah. Not a lot of triads out here, but there are some. I wonder if the Patil twins date the same blokes?"_

 _"They're in different Houses. Do they even share magic like we do?" Fred dragged both hands through his hair. "That book,_ Magical Multiples and Courtship Customs of the Wizarding World _? Said that if our magic is truly bound together, we won't have to deal with jealousy or competition between us if we are in a committed relationship with a third person."_

 _"You know, I've noticed that. After we talked, I didn't get jealous when we were both watching her, and, er, you know."_

 _"You know" had become an inside joke between them, and they occasionally used it in front of others to disconcert one another. It could mean anything even distantly related to their near-obsession with Hermione Granger, Slytherin._

 _Fred sighed. "Ron still hates her, though."_

 _"Charlie won't. And neither will Bill. She seems . . . more like a 'Claw than a Snake."_

 _"She's proud to be a Snake," Fred reminded him._

 _"Yeah, I know. If I were her, I guess I'd be proud, too."_

 _"And taking a couple of O.W.L.s early! Cor! Bloody brilliant, she is."_

 _George grinned. "She is, that. We should get her to help, you know."_

 _And their more buoyant mood crashed. "If we do, and we talk to her, we have to know that half our House will hate her."_

Two months later, and nothing had changed. Fred and George still sat at the Gryffindor table and had to keep dragging their focus from her, watching out for each other so that none of their housemates took the mickey out of them while they brooded over the Slytherin who was more brave than they were.

* * *

"Thank you, Professor Lupin, for the help with Defense. I'm not the only one who thinks you're the best professor Hogwarts has had in years for this post."

Professor Lupin had ceased to walk on eggshells around her, which she appreciated even if it had taken her months to learn to conjure her Patronus. It had turned out to be a rare caracal—sometimes called a desert lynx, which wasn't exactly right—which had pleased her. The caracal was known to attack non-prey animals only in self-defense and it had an unusual barking sound, she had learnt. It tended not to seek exposure, but was considered a powerful hunter. She liked it.

Professor Lupin had been impressed, too. He smiled at her the morning of the DADA exam. "Thank you, Miss Granger. You've been an apt student, yourself. I wish you all the best on the exam today. Remember, you only get one chance with the O.W.L. exams, so don't hurry through the written portion."

She nodded respectfully. "I'll be careful, sir."

He leaned a little closer to her as they stood just inside the Great Hall. "And thank you. For your discretion. I trust it shall be maintained."

"Of course, sir. Establishing trust is the first most important thing in any kind of partnership, whether that's academic or otherwise." She tossed her braid back and smiled into his eyes. "And I try to be trustworthy. Honestly."

"Indeed. Best wishes on your exams."

"Thank you, sir."

The Great Hall was, right in front of her eyes, being transformed for all the students taking their O.W.L. in Defense. Dining tables were Banished to some other place and dozens of desks popped into being on the stone floor. Proctors for the exam—from the Ministry of Magic, she understood—waited at the high table, swishing their wands back and forth to establish spacing between the exam tables.

Hermione could feel a crowd of students growing behind her, and soon two young men were even flanking her. She inhaled and knew it was _them_ without even looking. They smelled like mischief, spicy and sweet like Butterbeer. She would not look at them.

Not even when one of them brushed the back of her arm with a finger. A thrill coursed through her whole body, but she ignored it and stepped away. If they weren't going to talk to her, fine.

She had an exam to take, and she planned on getting an O.

* * *

Their were three proctors administering the practical part of the Defense exam. Hermione found herself called to a warded section of the Great Hall. There were three of these. The others who were still waiting had been encouraged to gather quietly in the cluster of chairs and snack on what delicacies the house-elves provided while they waited. There were thirty students taking the DADA O.W.L., for it wasn't required, though it was popular. Each proctor had ten students to process and each student required fifteen to twenty minutes to fully assess and record their practical.

"You will demonstrate knowledge of certain hexes and curses," the lead proctor had informed them. "You will be asked to shield yourself from some, as well, so we can ascertain your ability to truly defend yourself."

Hermione was ready. She felt that the written portion had been difficult, but still, she had done her best. At least she wasn't nervous going into her practical. Not like some redheads she knew.

"Granger, Hermione." There were three proctors, but only one of them was female. It was this woman who called Hermione to the central warded area. The woman looked to be in her middle thirties, tall, slender, and a bit grim around the mouth. "You're Hermione Granger?" she asked in a voice that said she'd spent all her life in London.

"I am." Extending her hand, she nodded. "And you are?"

"Anita Darling."

"Madam Darling. Thank you for proctoring today." Hermione set her school bag down on the nearest chair, but remained standing as the proctor did.

"I see that you are only in fourth year, Miss Granger."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And a Muggle-born."

"First Muggle-born to be sorted into my House in over a century," Hermione said. She would always be proud of that. Why the Hat had done so, she never knew, but she did feel it had required her to become tough and resilient, so that was a definite benefit.

"Very well. Let us begin. Assume the position, Miss Granger."

Astonished that a duel was happening without any assessment as to Hermione's own knowledge, she still assumed the appropriate combat position, wand raised, and hoped that she kept her head and didn't get hit by anything. Still, she cast a silent _Protego_ before Madam Darling did anything more than bow her head.

And it was good that she had!

Hexes flew from the proctor's wand, mostly of the white-light variety, but fast enough that Hermione was hard put to maintain her shield and try to lace her own jinxes—she didn't dare cast anything too strong against a proctor—in between. After getting stung twice by the Stinging Hex, Hermione decided to try to end the duel if she could.

It was an oldie, but a goodie. " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," she muttered under her breath.

It had worked on her, years ago, but Madam Proctor might not be so easily caught.

"Not quite, Miss Granger!"

Remembering the pain in her hands from not trying a wandless Summoning charm, Hermione decided to try that kind of thing, instead. _Expelliarmus_! she thought, directing her thought at the other witch's wand.

It worked! Madam Darling gasped as her wand flew across the warded area, and then, wiping a bead of perspiration from her temple, she smiled a bit wryly. "Nicely done, Miss Granger. Unexpected, but well done." She bowed to signify the end of the duel and Hermione did likewise.

"Here's your wand, ma'am."

"Thank you. Now," she went on, checking a sheet of parchment near a leather attaché case, "can you cast a Patronus?"

Hermione blanched. She hadn't really thought that would even be asked, as this was O.W.L. level, not N.E.W.T. level. "Madam Proctor?"

"You heard me. After all, you think highly enough of yourself to take this exam early, surely there's a reason."

Anger at perceived injustice flared in her chest, but she tamped it down, remembering Professor Lupin's lessons.

 _"Control those thoughts, Miss Granger. When confronted with a Dementor, remember, you won't be able to pick and choose your happiest thoughts to conjure your Patronus. You have to be able to demand it of yourself when you're terrified. When you're angry. When you want more than anything else to defend those close to you."_

 _Hermione had taken a deep breath and let it out. "Yes, sir."_

 _"Try again."_

 _Though unsettled and embarrassed, Hermione forced herself to find that happy thought, as if she were one of the Darling children in_ Peter Pan _._

It didn't help that her proctor today was named Darling, too, but Hermione tried. Her happiest moment was the one when she had stopped the Weasley twins from leaving her compartment on the Hogwarts Express, when they'd decided to stay with her and they'd talked all the way to London. She ignored the numerous times they'd chosen not to talk to her since and kept that one brilliant train trip in her memory.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " she called out in the warded area, hoping that any shielding wouldn't dampen her ability to cast the spell. From the tip of her wand leapt a shining silver caracal, with its upswept ears and jerky head motions, who landed in midair before turning like the predator he was to see what enemy he'd have to conquer.

She smiled at it, proud of herself and proud of her caracal. "Can you find Fred or George Weasley?" she asked it.

The caracal tossed his nose and leapt through the wards, ignoring Anita Darling entirely.

The proctor just blinked. "Well. A bit wispy, but acceptable."

Hermione felt her eyes go wide, but she shut her mouth and found her Slytherin mask within a heartbeat. "Thank you, ma'am. Will there be anything else?"

"No, Miss Granger. Your practical is complete. Results should be owled to you in July."

Hermione extended her hand again to the woman. "Thank you, Madam Proctor. Good day."

* * *

"Oi! George! Look!" Fred dropped the sandwich he'd been eating as he waited for his turn to take the Defense practical exam. He was hungry, oddly enough. Or he had been before—

"Where'd that come from?" George wondered, his eyes round in his face. "It's some kind of wildcat, isn't it?"

"A Patronus, Forge."

"I know that, you git. Whose?"

"Came from Granger's testing area."

"Smashing!"

Fred grinned as the feline circled them before dissipating into a fine mist. "Did you know she could do that?"

"We have to get her brains."

"That wasn't what I was thinking at all."

George blushed, but he grinned as well. "Me, either. Look, there she is."

They stood, adjusting their Gryffindor ties and smoothing their best robes. "Today," Fred murmured. "We can do this, right?"

Lee Jordan approached them just then. "Oi! What was that? Who sent you two a Patronus, eh?" He wiggled his brows suggestively.

George couldn't fight the blush. "Er, why? I think she was just demonstrating it for her practical," he said with a gesture in Granger's direction. She was walking right past them, but hadn't even looked at them.

"No! Not a snake! Really? She's kind of small, isn't she? Garden snake, right?" He laughed at his own bad joke. "Hey, Garden Snake! Didn't know they taught you that one!"

George punched their dorm mate in the arm. "Her name's _Granger_ , not snake."

"And she's bloody brilliant for pulling that off, so leave her alone."

"Thinks she's too good for us anyway, like they all do," Jordan remarked, rubbing his arm. "Didn't even answer me."

"She knows we don't speak," Fred murmured, disappointment settling like a rock in his gut, remembering how she'd stepped a bit away from them, earlier.

"Jordan, Lee!"

"That's you, mate," George said. "Good luck."

"Thanks!"

Fred sighed and slumped down in his chair once more. "Bollocks. That went tits up."

"Not all our fault. Not this time."

"She's so smart!"

"I know! I bet she'd be all kinds of help, too."

"D'you think she'd go for pranking, though?"

"Oh, yeah. At least so long as she didn't get caught. And what about those magical ideas she had? For things to use or wear, right?"

"Right! She'd help with those."

"Right!" And in moments, the two had their heads together, thinking of ways to include Hermione Granger in their future business interests.

They had a plan.

* * *

 ** _18 June 1994_**

 _Protego_! Hermione declared silently, waving her wand so that she was entirely shielded before she reached the Slytherin common room. It was abuzz with activity and whispered conversations, which was odd during O.W.L. exams. This made her cautious as she entered the room.

She hesitated to ask what had everyone whispering, though. Instead, kept to the side of the room and walked slowly toward the exit, hearing what she could on the way. It was likely that if she didn't pick something up here, she'd hear more in the Great Hall. The professors' faces at the head table were always communicative. And during exam week, anyone missing would be a clue, too.

Just as she reached the door, a firstie approached, his blue eyes wide under light brown fringe. "Granger, did you hear?" She tried to remember his name. She thought it was Belby, but wasn't sure. "About Professor Lupin?"

A chill shot through her middle. "What about him?"

"He's a werewolf! Everyone knows!" She affected to look shocked and appalled, just in case anyone was watching. "Our Head found out himself. He must have been quite brave."

Keeping that shocked look on her face, Hermione resolved to hurry to Professor Lupin's office even before breakfast. Maybe she should get him something from the kitchen, too. "Professor Snape is a very brave man," she said, nodding slowly. "But Lupin! That's so astonishing! We've sat classes with him all year and he never acted like a werewolf." _In class, that is._

Belby nodded with something that looked like excitement. "I know! You know, once my Gran finds out, she'll demand he be let go. It's not safe to have a werewolf in school."

At that, Hermione allowed herself to roll her eyes and shake her head at the firstie. "He's been here since September and no one's been endangered. I can't see how another year would be different."

"You'd be in error, Miss Granger."

"Professor Snape!" Their Head of House's name was shouted with uncharacteristic emotion from many occupants of their common room.

Hermione met his disdainful look with a lift of her chin. She didn't think ill of Professor Lupin. Indeed, she had come to admire him over the past year, not only as a professor but as a human being. And a werewolf. Still, she recognized that it was neither the time nor the place to mention that to Professor Snape, to whom she owed more than she owed Lupin. So she said nothing as their Head of House informed the rest of Slytherin what had transpired overnight.

"Whilst pursuing a pair of Gryffindors who were out of the castle last night—and I refuse to speculate as to why they might have been out—I came upon Professor Lupin before his transformation. Yes, he is a werewolf and yes, I knew he was and have known, indeed, since we were students at Hogwarts ourselves, decades ago. That is another story. Suffice it to say, I was instructed not to say anything about his . . . condition . . ." He leveled a look at the room at large. Hermione could only blink. "I met with Professor Lupin last night as he was conversing with none other than Sirius Black."

Even Hermione was astonished at that. "The escaped convict?"

"Indeed. He and Lupin were _friends_." He sighed as if acknowledging a grave tragedy. The students in the common room hung upon his words as if they wouldn't breathe if they couldn't hear him. "Additionally, Black is related to one of the Gryffindor students I was following. I tried to get the criminal into the castle, to turn him in to the Headmaster or the Aurors, but there was a contretemps with another old friend of theirs."

"Merlin! Where was all this happening? Sounds like a regular meeting of the Wizengamot," Malfoy said with a sneer.

"It's a long story," their professor reiterated. "Eventually, however the full moon did emerge and Lupin actually changed into his other form. I got the Gryffindors safely away and informed the Headmaster."

There was a smattering of applause for their Head of House, but Hermione had the distinct impression there were a lot of details left out. Still, she was sure it was the bare bones of the story and it made sense.

"He was a very good professor for DADA," she ventured to say.

Professor Snape nodded slowly. "He had his moments. Well, he will not be here any longer. He tendered his resignation this morning."

"What happened to Black?" Urquhart wanted to know.

"He escaped. But, apparently, he was innocent, as that other friend I mentioned was the guilty party. Now, if you have something _relevant_ to your academic careers to ask, do so. Otherwise, you would do well to get to the Great Hall. If you're taking exams today, you'll want to be prepared. That is all."

Not wanting to make it seem as if she knew more than anyone else did in this situation, Hermione headed to the Great Hall, ostensibly to get her breakfast but really to bypass it and make her way to Professor Lupin's office. It took some quick steps on her part, but she did her best to avoid detection until she reached the door, where she knocked.

"Professor Lupin? It's Hermione Granger."

She didn't have to wait long. "Just _Mister_ Lupin now, Miss Granger." He looked terribly sad. Exhausted, with golden brown stubble on his jaw and dark circles under his eyes. Of course, she didn't usually see him the day after a full moon rose, but she imagined the experience of transforming into a werewolf took its toll on him. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, sir. Nothing at all. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I never said anything. Not to anyone."

He produced a slow, melancholy smile. "I know, Miss Granger. Last night . . ." He paused and leaned against the door frame, effectively blocking the view into his office. "Last night was a confluence of circumstances that should never have happened. Still," he continued rubbing his knuckles along his jaw and making a sandpapery sound, "it wasn't entirely unexpected. The position of Defense Professor is cursed, after all. At least I didn't die, as others have done." At her surprised expression, he chuckled softly. "You didn't know, Miss Granger? I _am_ astonished."

"Can I get you anything, sir?" she offered, to redirect the conversation from the topic of her ignorance. "Breakfast or something?"

The air of sadness descended over him again like a cloak and he seemed to sag a little against the frame of the office door. "No, Miss Granger. I've got what I need, and the elves will still answer me if I call. And if all else fails, I remember how to get into the kitchen on my own."

"All right, then." Reluctantly, she took a step back from the door, so he could close it without feeling as if he were slamming it in her face. Werewolf or not, Lupin was a gentleman. "I also wanted to thank you, sir. For teaching me how to conjure my Patronus. It came in handy."

Despite his patent exhaustion, the man stood up straight as if offended. "What? They asked for that?"

She shrugged. "My practical proctor did, yes. I think she was unhappy with me." He angled a brow at her and she shrugged again. "Muggle-born. I'm getting used to it." With a frown, she made a quick, dismissive gesture. "I was able to produce one and she didn't ask me anything else, after."

"Did she engage you in a duel?"

Hermione allowed herself to smile. "She did. I disarmed her."

Lupin's smile was tired, but sincere. "Well done, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, sir." After another moment studying his face she dropped her gaze. "I'll let you finish whatever it was I interrupted, then."

"Thank you. Best wishes, Miss Granger. I have the feeling I'll be hearing more of you."

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

 _A/N: George and Fred really were trying, that time! Have a good weekend!_


	13. Chapter Twelve: Renewed Conversations

_**A/N: Surprise!**_

 _We have now reached a point you have likely been waiting for. At this point, the boys are on a mission. *nods* Go ahead, you can whisper, "Finally!" at them. They would totally understand._

 _Many thanks to everyone who has been reading, adding this story to their lists, and especially to all who review! Reviews make authors smile and smiling is good exercise so...! It's a good thing!_

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

 ** _Hogwarts Express, 25 June 1994_**

It was something, Hermione supposed, to be able to board the Hogwarts Express and not be bothered. No one in her House would accost her, because they all knew that she could protect herself, even without using her wand, and she wouldn't hesitate to do so. Additionally, they all knew she'd already taken her Defense O.W.L., which even some of the upper years found intimidating.

This pleased her. She tapped Boudicca's cage with a small smile as she waited her turn to board, amongst the horde of students eager to get home for the summer.

Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students didn't interact with her in any way, outside of required classes, so they mostly appeared to regard her as invisible as she applied a Featherlight charm to her school trunk and got it on the train. As she moved down the passage, she kept her head up.

They didn't speak to her, but they _did_ get out of her way.

All the way to the end of the second-to-last car, where she finally found a compartment she could claim as her own. "Here we go, girl," she murmured to Boudicca, who made a sociable little clicking sound with her beak. She lifted her charmed trunk easily to the overhead rack, and then dug some treats out for Boudicca and offered them to her through the wide bars of her cage. "Two O.W.L.s down, girl. How's that for something? And a month in France and lots of time to read ahead for next term . . . And maybe some boys on French beaches, yeah?"

Boudicca cocked her head, amber eyes flickering as if to say, "I'm listening, but I don't understand you."

Hermione smiled a little and proceeded to arrange her space so that she could have her reading materials and money for snacks from the trolley near to hand. The other side of the compartment was empty and she couldn't help but wonder if it would stay that way. Might Potter get clear of his Weasley sidekick with the aversion to Slytherins? Maybe they could talk about their owls on the way to London and she could tell him how her exams went. She could ask him what his plans were for the summer, maybe. She didn't know much about him at all, except that he was raised by Muggles, just as she had been.

Maybe Shana Shacklebolt might surprise her and join her on the train? "Could happen," she murmured to her owl. She couldn't help feeling tense, though. It was as if there was going to be another exam that she hadn't prepared for or something. Which was ridiculous, really. Would Mr. Lupin perhaps be heading to London on the train? It'd be nice to be able to talk to him. . .

"Oi, Granger."

"Can we come in?"

Fingers frozen on her wand, Hermione made herself relax and turn halfway to give George and Fred her attention. "Pardon me?" She leaned back into the cushioned panel of her seat and eyed them with a lifted brow. "Have we met?"

She was mildly gratified when the Weasley twins blushed in tandem and exchanged guilty glances. Other students were pushing their own trunks down the passage and the twins perforce had to invade her compartment. At least they looked uncomfortable.

Hermione wanted to feel smug about that. But two other feelings clamored to the forefront of her awareness around these two boys. The first was the fact that it was their presence that sparked the memory she drew upon for her Patronus. The second was how intriguing and, well, _interesting_ it had been to provoke a reaction from them when she'd been drinking her dinner months ago in the Hospital Wing.

A reaction from _both_ of them.

And here they were.

It wouldn't do to fall all over herself as she had done with them before, however. This much, she had learned. They'd spurned her company time after time. They had also sought her out time after time. There was a balance and she understood instinctively that she had to work with that. So she waited. No longer was she a naïve first or second year student who was craving their notice. She had learned to protect herself, to guard her thoughts if she couldn't guard her feelings, and she had discovered that even without friends, the educational process was worthwhile.

Lonely, but worthwhile.

Fred nudged George—whose eyebrows were heavier now than they used to be, though she no longer needed them to tell the twins apart—and pointed to the door before levitating their trunks to the overhead rack. Then he set his focus entirely upon her as he sat. George joined him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

She continued to wait, though she felt her heart jump inside of her, underneath the watchful mask she wore. Slytherins couldn't survive without their masks; it was one of the things one learned early. Their Head of House was a master of masks.

"Granger," Fred said softly while brushing the fringe off his forehead. "That was one smashing Patronus you conjured. What was it?"

The lack of apology or excuses took her aback for a moment, but Hermione recovered quickly. "So you saw it, then?"

They blushed again and she remembered an old conversation and how they'd never have made it in her House. "Er, yeah. We did." Fred's brows furrowed. "We meant to say something that day."

"Very impressive, that was. But, er, our dorm mate started in, and we couldn't get him to shut up, you know?" George met her eyes with an earnest look. "Really, we were all set to say something. When did you learn to do that?"

She felt the smile tugging at the corner of her lips and let it manifest. "Last year. I, er, asked Professor Lupin to tutor me, since I was revising for my O.W.L. exam in Defense. I also took History of Magic."

The boys nodded. "How did you do?"

"And why did you cast a Patronus?" Fred leaned forward. "Did your proctor ask for it?"

"Yeah. She didn't like me, I gathered. But I was prepared. How'd you do on your exams?" They'd taken only three apiece, which still baffled her. "And do you have any tips you can pass on to me for next year?"

George grinned. "Well, I think I did all right. No Patronus, but—"

"We can't all be geniuses." Fred tugged at his tie. "Tips? You already took Defense, so there's just Charms, Herbology, and Transfiguration that we could help out with."

Anticipation spiked sharply down her spine. Leaning forward, she tucked her wand away. "Would you? I'd be willing to barter, like I did in my House, if you want."

"Barter?" Fred's smile was brimming with mischief. "Oh, we might be able to do that."

On her guard again, but still with a pleasant fluttering in her middle, Hermione angled a brow at him. "Oh?"

"Mm-hmm." Then, he abruptly changed the subject. With a nod of his head toward Boudicca, he asked, "Who's your friend?"

"And do you suppose she'd be willing to fly out to the Burrow?"

"She's my owl, Boudicca, and what's the Burrow?"

Surprise all but exploded from both the boys and they fell against the cushioned seat backs. "The Burrow! She doesn't know about the Burrow, George!"

"We should fix that, Fred."

"Yes, you should." She frowned at them.

The train started moving at that point, and all three of them started in surprise. Boudicca bit at one of the bars of her cage, as if she were irritated. "What does she eat?" George wanted to know.

"Well, owls are natural hunters and prefer to chase down their food, so I left her cage open most of the time, when weather permitted her to fly out of the castle. I watched her hunt, a few times over the year." Smiling, she remembered the twilight hunts. "She often gets small mice when she goes out."

"Does she like, well, snacks and such?"

Hermione smiled at their efforts at being friendly with her and Boudicca. "Bacon is good. She can't chew, though, so I have to be careful. Do you want to meet her?"

"She should get to know us, Forge," Fred said softly, moving to sit on the floor in front of Boudicca's round cage. He held his hand up, fingers spread, toward the owl.

"Why?" Hermione asked, followed by, "Don't do that with your hand. It's like spreading wings, and she'll find it threatening." Indeed, Boudicca made a rasping sound from her throat and began to stretch her neck up to make herself appear larger. "I did a lot of research on the body language of owls. They're very smart, but rather sensitive."

"Like you, eh?" Fred asked with a grin.

"I _beg_ your pardon?" Boudicca, sensitive to her moods like a good companion, ruffled her feathers even further in what was an imposing manner. "Good girl," Hermione murmured, reaching through the bars of the cage to caress a feather.

George knelt as close to the cage as he could, rubbing shoulders with Fred and nearly touching Hermione's knee. "No need to ruffle _your_ feathers, Granger," he said with what he clearly thought was a soothing manner. "We're just making an observation."

"We're good at that."

"But you're bad at remembering things," she pointed out. At their twin puzzled expressions, she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "The Burrow? What is it?"

"Oh! That's our home!"

Not wanting to offend, but quite curious, Hermione asked, "Do you, do you live underground, then? I've heard of people doing that, but mostly in the States and such."

Laughing, the pair of them looked up at her and she was suddenly overwhelmed with the warmest, but most uncomfortable, feelings. Heat rose under her skin and she didn't know how to push it back so she just reached for her small packet of owl treats to distract her attention. It kept her hands too busy to run through each twin's hair. It kept her from admiring how fit they appeared, even kneeling near her feet—which was also a bit uncomfortable, if equally gratifying. And she didn't have to say anything other than, "It's not that funny."

What was she going to do? How could she like _both_ of them? Her parents would lose it, were they to know. It wasn't as if she could date two brothers.

It wasn't as if they were even talking to her in public, anyway.

Irritated, she sniffed loudly and leaned back, drawing her legs up off the floor so that she _wasn't_ almost touching George. Which she wanted. But she wasn't going to do.

George nudged his brother with his shoulder and they returned to their seat across from her. "The Burrow is our home, but it's not underground, Granger. It's, it's kind of odd, really, compared to a Muggle house, I daresay."

"See, there are seven of us, and we all have to share rooms."

"Except for Ginny. She's our only sister."

"She gets her own room, of course. Do you have any brothers or sisters? Are they magical like you?"

"I think I rather feel for your sister, saddled with six brothers. And no, I'm an only child. It's something Potter and I have in common, you know." She tossed that out there just to see what they did; she didn't know why, exactly, but it was an instinct to learn more about the two boys with her.

"Harry?"

"Good lad, Harry. He and our brother Ron are mates."

"I'd noticed, yes. Potter won't speak to me in front of people, either. What is it with you lot in Gryffindor? We don't have an infectious disease in my House."

Fred blushed, his face scrunched up as if he were afflicted with an itching hex. "Er. That. We know. We've tried talking to you at school."

"Oh really?" She attempted to infuse those two words with every bit of Professor Snape's sarcasm as possible.

George's ears seemed to catch fire. He winced. "Every time we try, it seems that one of our own housemates steps up to say something, er . . ."

"Unfriendly."

"Uncomplimentary."

"They're gits, Granger, a lot of 'em." Fred pressed his lips together before parting them on a loud exhalation. "Our own brother, included. But only Ron, you know." His light brown eyes lit with a secret. "Percy? He likes 'em smart, you know."

"And Charlie made us help you when you were an ickle firstie." She had to smile at George's reminder.

Fred crossed glances with George. "And don't forget Bill!"

"Bill?"

The brothers stretched as if trying to be casual, but they were being so obvious about it she knew they were teasing her in some way. "Bill. Yeah. Well. He's the oldest," Fred informed her.

"You'd like him. He had twelve O.W.L.s," George added with a grin.

"Twelve! I need to get ten more to—" she started saying. But then, both the boys laughed fit to frighten Boudicca and Hermione crossed her arms and scowled at them. "Oh, honestly."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Will Hermione feel compelled to equal Bill's O.W.L. accumulation? _


	14. Chapter Thirteen - Owl Posts

_**A/N:** Why yes, I planned this post/overnight/post thing. Almost like I've got my fic on owl delivery or something. . ._

 _Thanks to everyone who has added this fic to their lists! Special smiles for those who've reviewed! Big bow to **The Butterfly Dreamer** who caught review #400. Thank you!_

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 **Owl Post**

 ** _2 July 1994_**

Dear Weasley & Weasley,

As per our agreement, I am writing first, and sending Boudicca to what you have claimed is an outstanding hunting ground. I still don't understand the whole gnome thing, so if you would be so kind perhaps as to take a picture (Muggle or Magic, I don't much care), I would appreciate it.

You said your father is interested in all things Muggle. He is welcome to ask me any question and I will try to answer.

What should I be reading to prepare for my Transfiguration and Charm O.W.L.s? You said you'd help.

Hope you're having a busy summer. I'd hate to see you bored.

Cordially,

Granger

* * *

 ** _5 July 1994_**

Hello, Granger!

Fred, here. George and I take turns, you know. And we share. So we're taking turns and sharing.

 _(Margin comment from George: Ask him to elaborate!)_

 _(Margin comment from Fred: Ignore my twin. He was dropped on his head.)_

Thanks for sending Boudicca. We have set a cage for her in our room and are leaving the window open so she can come and go as she pleases. She tried to hunt a garden gnome. We're sending a picture. You can see your owl shook him up and then dropped him.

You asked about books to read to prepare for your revising. You have to be a more dedicated student than even Percy. Start with Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration. That'll brighten up your summer! Also, if you plan on taking the Herbology exam, make sure you're up on Goshawk's Guide. It's important.

Dad thanks you for your offer to be his Muggle answer-witch. He'll put together questions for later this summer.

Never bored here, Granger! Working on some secret pranking items! We're also looking for a third brain over here, because sometimes we need a not-a-twin to talk to about this stuff. Interested?

Sincerely,

Older Weasley Twin

 _(Margin note: But only by 13 minutes! - G.)_

* * *

 ** _13 July 1994_**

To: Older & Younger Twins Weasley

Re: Not-a-twin brain

Thank you for the book titles. I have both of them and will do my best to commit them to memory before September.

No rain, today, so I'll be trying to send Boudicca off to you this evening. She flies better at night, as you've no doubt observed. I am not apologizing for the delay, though. Boudicca is not used to the demands being placed on her.

Regarding your proposition. I'm not sure what you would be asking of me, so I am hesitant to agree or disagree without more information. My main goal with my education is to be able to work in Wizarding Britain or perhaps France. I'm also considering learning Russian, as I hear there are intricate magical societies there, albeit a bit more archaic than even ours in Britain. There are many things I want to research, of course, and I also want to work for greater Muggle and Muggleborn acceptance in the Wizarding world. Will your projects help me in my goal, or would this be a one-sided bit of help?

My family will be vacationing in France again, starting next week. Please let Boudicca hunt before sending her back to me. I will send her back when we return from our trip. Can owls even cross the Channel? I know they go the length and breadth of Britain. I truly wish you used a non-magical mail service, Weasleys!

Have you ever vacationed in France?

With respect, your prospective partner-in-production,

H. Granger

* * *

 ** _15 July 1994_**

Hello, Prospective Partner!

George here. Remember, we take turns AND we share. Don't forget that part, all right?

 _(Margin note: Sorry, Granger. He's been imagining French beaches. Ignore him. - F.W.)_

 _(Margin note: I won't tell you what my twin is imagining! - G.W.)_

Here's the thing. You aren't in our House or classes, so you might not know the fearsome reputation we, the Weasley Twins, have for making people laugh. Remember our talks, years ago, about portable magic? We have some ideas on making this happen for fun and profit. We want to make things that people can buy to make themselves or others laugh. Some might call them pranks, but we prefer the term Portable Magic, like we talked about that day.

One bit of portable magic we're working on is called an Extendable Ear. You'd like this, Granger. It's very practical and not a prank at all.

Not sure how we'd work together, not being in the same place, but maybe if we have research questions or something, we could ask you? And for opinions for when Fred and I have a disagreement?

Have a great vacation in France and, whilst sunning yourself on their famous beaches, give the Portable Magic idea some thought, yeah?

Au revoir et bon voyage,

G. W.

P.S. Take pictures of the French beaches! - F.W.

* * *

 ** _15 August 1994_**

Fred & George:

Bon jour! France was lovely. I'm trying to send a picture of one of the beaches we visited: Plage de Santa Giulia on Corsica. I'll bring more to school. You know, on the off chance you two decide to actually speak to me.

I have given the matter of a partnership some thought and am willing to be of service to you at this time. I expect, in return, an assist when I am revising for my O.W.L.s, provided you each got Os in yours! I received Os in History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts, so of course, I expect you to have done as well.

I also expect you to think for yourselves, if you've learned how. You should know how to demonstrate this, I believe.

I hope you have had a pleasant month. If you have any pictures of your recent activities, please send them back with Boudicca.

Sincerely,

H. Granger

* * *

 ** _18 August 1994_**

Dear Miss Granger,

Welcome home. Thank you for the picture of the beach in Corsica. Was that your foot in the bottom right corner, with the shiny pink toenails? Where was the rest of you?

Congratulations on the test results! We expected nothing less, of course. And, of course, we got Os as well.

 _(Margin note: Not that our Mum is terribly pleased that we only got three Os apiece - G.W.)_

It is really hard to write this, but we have discussed it and decided that a confession is in order and it's safer to do it by owl post than in person, because we know how wicked you are with a wand.

 _(Margin note: We've been practicing our shield spells just in case! - F.W.)_

It was hard, at first, to think of speaking to you at school because of the Houses. You've met Ron, I know, and he is a fair example of the attitude most Gryffindors have regarding Slytherins. To be honest (and we're being honest, seeing as how Boudicca can't read - can she? - G.) we work hard to make people laugh, not yell. Not like that. Not in, well, anger or disgust or the mess of things people feel about your House. I know that your Housemates mock ours in the Great Hall and during lessons. And when a bloke wants to make other blokes laugh, it's hard to hear them say awful things. Like what our git of a baby brother says to and about you.

You've twitted us about the whole "bravery" and "daring" thing and you're not wrong. We've often thought that you should have been sorted into Gryffindor, as a point of interest.

 _(Margin note: This is a high compliment, so please don't think it's not! - G.)_

It certainly would have been easier if you had. We don't suppose you'd consider asking to be re-sorted?

We don't know how you handle it on your end, to be honest, except that we have decided that you don't care what anyone else thinks. You always eat alone, and you almost always sit alone on the train. The only time you're not alone is during Quidditch matches, which we are still trying to figure out.

All of which brings us back to your CHALLENGE. We're trying to think for ourselves, as you challenged us to do years ago. We only took the O.W.L.s we need for what we want to do with ourselves, despite how unhappy our mum is with us. We are also seeking to proceed in our future plans, even if no one else thinks we'd do well.

But here's the thing. You already know what we want and you think it's a good idea. Maybe being an outcast in your House has made you brave, yeah?

We can be brave, too. We look forward to seeing you at King's Cross Station on the 1st of September. We'd write before then, but we're going to be at the Quidditch World Cup next week!

Until September,

Messrs. Weasley

Future Proprietors of Portable Magic

* * *

 _A/N: The twins are very **deliberate** in their word games. To my readers in the States, have a Happy Thanksgiving! See all y'all **Friday**._


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Public Friends

_**A/N: My thanks to all of you wonderful people who are along for the ride in this AU. :) I so enjoy hearing from you!**_

 _We are now entering the_ **Goblet of Fire** _year. Settle in and grab a beverage of your choice, but heed the Age Line! I hope you enjoy. :)_

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 ** _King's Cross Station, 1 September 1994_**

"No matter how many times we do this, pumpkin, it's never easy to let you go at a full run into a brick wall." The crowd on what he privately called the Mundane Side of King's Cross Station was no worse than usual. This was his fifth year taking his daughter to the train and he'd never even seen the steam engine she had described so vividly. Concern etched his face, but he tried not to let it show.

Hermione grinned up into her father's eyes. They were a darker brown than hers, and he was starting to get a bit gray about the eyebrows and at his temples. There were more lines in his forehead than there used to be, as well. She sighed a bit, inwardly. "It's a good thing I've never run at the wrong wall, eh?"

He pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. "True enough." Examining her smile, he cocked his head. "You know, we really should do something about the orthodontia."

"Dad!" Scowling, she ran her tongue over her front teeth behind closed lips. Leaning closer to her father's shoulder so she could speak without being overheard, she said, "I can get them fixed at school, you know. There's a spell." Madam Pomfrey had mentioned it the prior year, but she had declined the matron's services out of respect for her parents.

But today? Today she was thinking she wanted it. Because she wanted a pretty smile.

"A spell? For such a procedure? Hermione." Dad shook his head. "We can do the lingual braces, if you're worried about how you'd look. They go behind the teeth. No one would have to know."

"Unless I kiss someone," she muttered, half hoping he'd hear her and half hoping he wouldn't.

He heard. Expression arrested somewhere between caution and irritation, he held her by the shoulders and studied her face. She met his gaze with a toss of her head. He couldn't read her mind, after all. Not like _some_ professors. "I know you're almost fifteen, and a full fifth year, pumpkin, but . . ."

"Dad." She pulled together her composure and tried not to blush. "Hasn't happened yet, but I _am_ a girl, you know."

"I know. Believe me, I know."

She had just opened her mouth to remind him that a formal ensemble had been mentioned in the year's academic supply list, so she had hopes for the pretty dress (which she and her mother had bought in France!), when she heard a pair of familiar voices call her name.

In _public_.

"Oi, Granger!"

Boudicca hit her beak against the bars of the cage as the Weasley twins approached, and Hermione saw her dad endeavor to soothe the flustered bird. "Er, pumpkin? Who're they?"

Smiles in their eyes, the redheaded duo weren't wearing their robes on this side of the train station. Instead, they wore Muggle clothes: jeans and jumpers. Fred's was brown and George's a dark green. Their hair hadn't been cut in months, but Hermione felt a strange flutter in her midsection when George brushed his fringe from his eyes and Fred tucked a longish section behind one ear. They'd filled out a bit since June, too, and she couldn't help noticing, could she? Broader across the shoulders, so that those jumpers were a bit tight. She didn't let herself study them below the waist; her father was right there!

 _They are fit_ , she acknowledged to herself, keeping a bland mask on her face. "Oi, Weasleys!" she called, her tone a bit mocking, but she figured they'd understand it for the jest it was and not an insult.

"Weasleys?" her father asked, one hand on her shoulder, as if to keep her from moving from him. "Is one of them the boy you were writing to all summer?"

Hermione sidestepped that one as quickly as she could. "Dad, these are the Weasley twins. They're in their sixth year. This is Fred," she said, indicating the older twin with a motion of her hand, "and this is George." She smiled at him. "Boys, this is my father, Dr. Daniel Granger."

Both the boys extended their hands to shake her dad's. "Hello, sir."

"Hello, Dr. Granger."

"Weasley. Weasley." He looked about. "Are you in the same, er, form?"

"No, Dad. Just the same school."

"Our gear is over there with Ron and Harry," Fred said with a jerk of his thumb toward the magical wall.

"And our mum," George added with a respectful sort of smile.

Fred's parent-face was entirely guileless, Hermione decided. "About ready to go, Granger? Want to make sure to get a good compartment for Boudicca, here."

George grinned at her father. "Have you seen that girl hunt, sir? She's brilliant."

Hermione patted her dad's hand where it still rested on her shoulder. She was a bit bewildered that this was even happening. That the boys were _meeting_ _her_ _father_ , of all things. On edge and eager to see what Fred and George were thinking, approaching her and her dad—and not wanting to believe it was what she thought it might be, because that would just be odd and weird and swoon-worthy—Hermione turned to give her dad a hug. "I'm off, Dad. I'll write tonight, to let you know I'm all tucked in, okay?"

"All right," he said, scowling at Fred and George before giving her a long kiss on the top of her head. "Be safe."

"I will."

"No worries there, Dr. Granger," Fred said with a smile. "Your daughter is the best duelist at Hogwarts, we think."

"What? Hermione Jean!?"

Torn between laughing and wishing Fred had kept his mouth shut, she settled for offering her father a reassuring smile. "It's all right, Dad. Really. Self-defense, you know. Every girl should know some! Come on, Weasley One and Weasley Two."

"Huh?" George asked with an overplayed quizzical expression on his face. He'd never read Dr. Seuss, it seemed.

She picked up Boudicca's cage and let George and Fred take her trunk. Her father would approve. "Bye, Dad!"

"Bye, pumpkin!"

"Pumpkin?" Fred asked, laughing quietly at her.

"Just. Don't." And then they checked for Muggles before proceeding through Platform 9 3/4.

She was almost afraid to look at either of the twins as they strode boldly toward Potter and his friend. Her heart was pounding and she felt as if her skin were humming with a combination of dread and anticipation. They were speaking to her? In public? And carrying her trunk? In public?

"Oh, there you are!" A short, curvy woman with enough red hair to match all of her sons threw her hands up in the air. "Fred! George! I was wondering— Oh, hello?"

Ron Weasley made a disgusted sound. "C'mon, Harry. Let's get out of here before there's a snake infestation." He tugged on Potter's shirtsleeve. Potter just shot Hermione a look that seemed resigned more than anything.

The red-haired woman held up a hand. "Just a moment, Ronald Bilius Weasley. No need to be rude. Fred? George? Who's your friend?" she inquired with a warm smile.

Hermione didn't wait for the boys to find their manners. She switched Boudicca's cage to her left hand and extended her right. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Hermione Granger. You're Fred and George's mum?"

"She's in Slytherin," Ron added with a sneer.

Hermione tilted her chin up and ignored him. "I am, Mrs. Weasley. First Muggle-born sorted into my House in over a century." The handshake being over, Hermione transferred Boudicca back to her right hand, meeting Fred and George's eyes as she did so.

They finally found their voices. "She's wicked smart, Mum."

"Brilliant duelist, too."

Hermione felt the color rise to her cheeks and she tried to nonverbally hint that they needed to go.

Potter stepped in at that point. "Hey, Granger. How's Boudicca?"

"Doing well, thank you, Potter. And Hedwig? She looks well."

"Thank you, yeah. I found some new owl treats at Eeylops in Diagon Alley."

"I hear they've got a shop in Glasgow. Maybe we can go before the holidays," Hermione suggested slowly, wondering why on earth Harry Potter was making small talk with her.

Fred clapped his hands once. "Right! Well! We've got to get on the train, Mum." Fred glared at his youngest brother. "Where's Ginny?"

"Talking to Luna Lovegood. See, there they are, about to go over. Ronald, you and Harry make sure she gets settled, all right?"

"Right, Mum. Let's go, Harry."

Potter nodded and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Thanks again, Mrs. Weasley, for everything." They hurried off, corralling a young girl with shining, Weasley-red hair and another girl with pale blond hair as they went.

Hermione was all in favor of following them. "Er, shall we?" she asked, smiling a Slytherin common room smile. One that showed nothing but surface politeness, used when unsure of where one stood in the pecking order.

Mrs. Weasley smiled, too. A mother's smile. An evaluative, "I'll hex you if you mess with my children" smile. "Your owl is familiar, dear," she said. "You're the girl my boys were writing all summer?"

"Yes, ma'am. They're fine correspondents." They had, after all, said nice things about her to her parent. She could reciprocate. "They were very kind to Boudicca, as well."

Fred made some sort of uncomfortable noise and, glancing at him, Hermione saw that he was developing quite a blush up this throat to his cheeks. She suppressed a smile. "Everything all right, Fred?"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "What? How'd you know?"

Hermione blinked. _Did I say something wrong?_ "I figured them out on the train up, first year, ma'am."

"C'mon, Gred! Granger! Let's go. Mum, we'll write tonight."

"Use a school owl, no worries."

"Not like she ever gave us one of our own," George grumbled.

"I can take my trunk," Hermione reminded them as they seemed to look perplexed. "Really. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Weasley," she said, only partially lying.

The older witch canted her another heavy look. "Were you at the World Cup, dear?"

"No, ma'am. I went to France with my parents."

"Ah, good, good." The woman appeared to relax. "Have a good term, boys."

"Bye, Mum!"

Away from the parental stressors, she took a deep breath. A dozen pairs of eyes were glued on them, the odd trio. The Laughing Lions from Gryffindor and the Pariah of Slytherin.

"Let's go," she said, setting her jaw. Without sparing the incredulous and disapproving onlookers another glance—though she heard everything they pretended to be whispering behind her back—she pulled her trunk with one hand and carried Boudicca with the other.

"Hey." A boy with a red and gold tie inserted himself in a boarding line in front of her, between her and Fred, who was standing on tiptoe to look into the train car. "Fred?"

George sighed loudly behind Hermione. "Jordan! C'mon, mate. Behind me, yeah? You're cutting out Granger, there."

Jordan seemed to see her for the first time as he glanced over his shoulder. "I am, yeah. So, Fred! How was the World Cup, mate?"

She didn't hear what Fred said as the line moved forward and Boudicca started squawking and chittering with unease. "There, there, girl. Almost sorted, yeah? I'll get you a snack when we get settled. Potter even knows where to get more. Maybe we'll see if he'll let us buy some off him, all right?"

"Potter?" Jordan turned, his eyes narrow under his dreadlocks. "What do _you_ have to do with Harry Potter?"

"What is it with you Gryffindors?" Hermione heard herself ask the boy. "It's as if you come to school already prejudiced against us."

"Your Head of House is prejudiced against _us_ ," Jordan snapped, his lips pulled back in a snarl. "Snape's a git. He's constantly taking points from my House for, for _breathing_. You can't say that McGonagall has ever done that to you."

That hurt, because she had nothing to say in response. Professor Snape was highly prejudicial; she knew it. But he had helped her a great deal and she wouldn't say a word against him. Not for anything. He was her Head of House. So, she made sure her mask was firmly in place when she answered. "I am not responsible for Professor Snape's decisions. I'm only responsible for myself."

"Well, go be responsible for yourself somewhere else and stay the hell away from Harry Potter. And my friends," he added, leaning closer to her so that she could feel the heat from his skin.

Words. Words didn't threaten her. They made her feel bad, maybe, but they didn't threaten her. Hermione lifted her chin and turned to go the opposite direction Fred had gone down the passage.

George followed her rather than his brother, his brows furrowed in obvious concern. "Granger? What happened?"

She tried to smile a little. "It's okay, George. Your, er, friend warned me off, is all. I, I appreciate the effort you took to think for yourselves and I'm definitely in, but I'm not willing to listen to your friends judge me based on the behavior of others." She shrugged. "I wasn't raised to be prejudiced like that and I don't like it."

She felt very out of sorts, as if something was jagged in her chest. Something that needed to be smoothed, moved, and warmed in order for her to feel better. It was worse than her first week at Hogwarts, in some ways, because the pain was internal rather than external.

George stood there, blocking the passage with his broad-shouldered self. "Granger?" His voice was soft, cautious, and the look in his eye was worried. "I, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, George," she said with a morose shake of her head. "I understood the Mudblood comments and the fact that the proctor didn't like me because of my blood status. That makes some kind of sense, in this world. But."

"But you _really_ don't like the House rivalries."

"It's not even with all the Houses," she protested. "It's just your House and mine. This doesn't happen with Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, does it?"

"Oi! C'mon! You're blocking the whole passage, Weasley!"

"Granger! Move your, your _owl_!"

That second voice was familiar. "Shana?" she inquired, turning around. Her dorm mate had a badge on her robes. "Congratulations on being made Prefect."

"Thank you. But hey, move along, yeah? We've got firsties trying to find a compartment." Shana eyed the redhead. "Weasley? Move. She's not up for a rematch on your duel on the train. Both of you. Go."

Hermione nodded. "Of course." She tried to smile for George. "Thank you. You should probably find your twin. He'll be feeling as if he'd lost his right arm."

They parted ways, but Hermione felt as if she'd been cheated. The twins were finally willing to "go public" with their—their what, friendship? partnership? whatever it had been that had made them think about _that_ , once upon a midnight?—relationship, and it had been ruined. Ruined not by looks and unsubtle comments, but by the outright prejudice that would never cease to exist between their Houses.

* * *

 _ **Hogwarts Express**_

"What the bloody hell was that all about, Lee?" Fred and George had shut the door to their compartment and sealed it. Bill had taught them all about the _Colloportus_ charm once, and they used it to what was probably a ridiculous degree. Fred hefted his trunk to the overhead rack without a spell, just needing to work out the irritation that rushed through his limbs. He wanted to shake his roommate until Lee's teeth rattled. "Granger didn't say anything against Gryffindor."

"She's a _snake_ , Fred. George." Jordan didn't always know which of them was which, and they were actually okay with that. "And you know she's Snape's personal _pet_ snake. How else did she get so good at dueling?"

George shook his head and turned his back on Lee. He could still see the bewildered, pained frustration in Granger's—Hermione's—eyes. Eyes like cinnamon on pumpkin pie. _Pumpkin_. Her parents' nickname for her. He felt a smile tug at his lips. "She got good at it because she had to, Lee. She's in Slytherin, but she's a Muggle-born. Think they like her any more than they like us?"

"And she has to _live_ with them, mate," Fred added.

"What if we were always after you, yeah?" George leaned against the closed door and crossed his arms.

Fred mimicked him on the other side of the compartment.

Lee collapsed on one of the cushioned seats. "What is she to you, anyway?" Clearly confused, he threw up his hands before pushing them on the seat. "You're acting like you're friends." He paused and his eyes grew round. "Or, or _more_? Really, mate? You and the snake?"

Fred looked at his brother, who seemed to have a slight smile in his eye. "We've asked her to work with us, Lee," Fred said after a moment.

"Smartest witch of her year," George declared.

Fred felt the sharp stab of regret at George's words. "Where is she?"

George shrugged. "I dunno. A Prefect made us move and she, well, she did, didn't she. You should talk to her."

His brother nodded. "I will." Pushing himself off the wall, he took one long stride and leaned in to whisper in his twin's ear. "Is that all right? Me talking to her?"

With a snort, George nudged him in the chest. "O'course, Gred. We share, yeah?"

"Well, we try, anyway!" Fred clapped his brother on the shoulder, told both the others he'd be back eventually, and headed off in the direction George pointed out to him. By then, the train was starting to move, so it was a bit unsteady as he accustomed himself to some initial lurching.

What would he say to her? He had to think of that. In the past, it had been George who'd wound up having the more intense discussions with her. Fred felt it was only right—if they were still thinking about sharing, and they were—for him to take on his share as well.

 _Someday_ , he reflected with a smile, _we're going to have to bring her in on this_.

Whatever _this_ turned out to be, anyway.

Well, he would need a plan. What did he want to accomplish by talking to her?

He wanted to make sure that whatever Lee had said—and he still wasn't sure what it was—wouldn't keep her from working with them. If she worked with them, there were benefits. First, they would get to tap her mind and the girl was smart. Smart and determined and a survivor. Plus, she was creative. The idea for portable magic for those who couldn't do magic was going to make the Weasley twins a fortune, he was pretty sure, and it was only right that she have a share. Second, if she worked with them, they could ease her back from whatever it was that was making her distance herself from them. Maybe that was part of being in her House, though.

He passed by Ron and Harry in their compartment. Ginny was there, too, which surprised him a bit. Ron waved him in. "Hey! Where ya goin'?"

"Looking for someone," Fred said, nodding to Harry and smiling at Gin. "You lot all right?"

Ginny's face bloomed and Fred leaned over to tug on her hair. She really was a pretty girl and she clearly had a thing for Potter. They'd have to keep an eye on her, this year.

Ron shrugged. "We're all right for blokes—"

"Hey!" Ginny cried in protest.

Ron and Harry rolled their eyes. "All right for _people_ heading back to school, yeah. Where's George?"

"With Lee. Hey, have you seen Granger?"

Potter, interestingly, looked concerned and even stood up. "No. Did she make it to the train?"

"Yeah, but there was a problem and I wanted to talk to her." He met Harry's look. "One of the guys from our house was giving her a hard time."

"She's not like the average Slytherin, is she?" Harry remarked.

"She's a bloody snake," Ron stated, hands flat on his knees. "Merlin, Fred. What is it with you and Granger, anyway?"

Ginny's eyes went round and she squeaked something, but when Harry and Fred looked in her direction, she clapped her hands over her mouth. Fred made a private note to talk to her later.

Harry cocked his head, though, and seemed as if he'd pursue the matter. To save his sister—and himself—some embarrassment, Fred touched Harry's shoulder. "Did she come after you for those owl treats or whatever they were?"

"No." He smiled with a bit of mischief. "I'll give you a few if you want, though, to take to her. Peace offering?"

Fred snorted "Good one, mate. Thanks, yeah."

Supplied with owl treats, Fred left his siblings and Harry and returned to his search for the Elusive Granger. It was rather fun, hunting for her on the train. He considered asking Harry if Hedwig would find Boudicca, but decided this way was more sporting.

After all, the ride up to Hogsmeade was a long one and the time moved slowly.

After trying to look oh-so-casual while poking his head into different compartments—but not inquiring after Hermione again, even if he saw a profusion of green and silver—Fred ruminated on possible conversational directions.

 _"I don't know what Lee Jordan said, Granger, but I was kind of hoping you'd join George and me for the trip up. Wanted to talk about the P.M. stuff."_

 _"P.M.?" she'd ask, her pretty brown eyes wide and wondering._

 _"Portable Magic," he'd whisper near her ear, hoping she'd blush and smile at the memory of one important conversation, years before._

That was one way it could go.

Or, it might be more complicated.

 _"Oi, Granger! Got room in here for another bloke or two?"_

 _And she'd frown a little, but nod. "Of course, Mr. Weasley," she might say. "Did you bring the O.W.L. level Transfiguration notes you promised me?"_

 _And he'd smile and sit next to her before shaking his head. "Not on me, no, but you're welcome to search my robes if you'd like."_

 _And then, maybe she'd blush._

No, no she wouldn't. She might hex him for his cheek, so forget _that_ idea.

 _Instead, he'd offer her the owl treats he'd cadged from Harry Potter and she'd smile for him and he'd probably stare at her and—_

 _No, that wouldn't do, either, because it'd give the game away and he didn't want to do that without George._

"Weasley?"

He actually stumbled when she said his name. She was flipping her thick braid of hair so that he fell forward over her shoulder. It was tied with a thin green ribbon. Wearing her school robes, she looked so, so, _confident_. When had that happened? He could still remember her tiny, first-year self demanding he and his brother levitate themselves to get out of her way, though, so… Perhaps confidence had always been a part of her nature?

Where was his famous imagination, now? He blew out a breath. "Granger. Just the girl I was looking for."

Her lips tilted up a bit on her left side, marking the barest hint of a dimple that he didn't remember having ever seen before. "Well, you've found me. What do you want?"

He darted a look up and down the passage. "Where're you sitting? Did you leave Boudicca alone?"

"I'm just there," she said, pointing at a compartment just beyond him. "And she's fine." Still, she made no move to go to said compartment. "Anything else?"

Prickly, wasn't she? He cleared his throat. "Can I join you?"

"I don't know. _Can_ you? This is a competency question, Mr. Weasley." A challenge flared in her eye and he had to smile as she went on. "Are you _capable_ of joining me?"

"I do believe I could manage it if I _may_ , Miss Granger."

There was that dimple again. "All right, come on, then."

It was only a few strides to reach her compartment. He was unsurprised to find she was sitting alone. She was _always_ alone. It struck him anew as he entered and waited for her to sit down so he could sit across from her. She was always _alone_. He never knew how that felt, because he always had George.

How did one go through life alone? Well, he'd met her dad that morning, and he seemed all right, but . . .

"Are you going to sit down?"

He did so. "Thanks." _So, which way to go with this?_ "It was good to meet your dad, this morning," he said, trying his best to sound casual.

She chuckled, gratifying him. "You surprised us. But, thanks. Thank you for what you did. I know it couldn't have been easy."

He decided to continue with the casual approach. "What, shaking hands? I'm a future entrepreneur, Miss Granger. I'm good at shaking hands." She shook her head at him and he leaned forward, elbows on knees. "And thank you for meeting our mum. I know she gets a little . . ."

"Suspicious?"

"Protective. So, thanks."

With a nod, she deflected his gratitude. "So, what did you want to see me about?"

"Well, George and I had planned on spending the trip up with you, you know."

Her breath caught a little; he could hear it even though the train rumbled around them. Additionally, her owl made a sudden movement that he interpreted as curious. "You did? I thought we weren't going to do that."

"Well, we did make an effort. Thinking for ourselves and all. We just needed the proper incentive, I guess."

"What, my brain?"

He laughed at her self-deprecating eye-roll. "Sure, why not? Oh, I've got some of those new treats Harry was talking about, earlier. For Boudicca. Can she have some?"

She angled a brow at him. "You're going to try feeding her something new?"

"Sure," he said again, moving to kneel in front of the pretty roundish cage with its Celtic knot designs. That the position brought him nearer to Hermione didn't hurt, either. He dug the treats from a pocket and took one between two fingers, carefully sliding it through the bars of the cage. "Think she'll take it from me?" he asked, his eyes not leaving the owl's beak.

"Maybe? Go on, Boudicca. He won't hurt you."

Whether it was due to Hermione's encouragement or the owl's own knowledge, Boudicca did nip the strip of whatever the owl treat was from his finger. "Well, there's a girl," Fred murmured. "Very polite." Still watching the owl, he handed the rest of the treats to Hermione. "From Harry."

"Thank you," she said quietly. "So, you want my brain?"

He settled down to remain on the floor. He liked being near her and she seemed a bit more relaxed at the moment. "We do, yeah. Told you we want to work with you, right? And we were hoping to talk to you about it." He looked around the compartment in a really obvious way. "So, can I go get my brother and join you, here?"

"But there's two of you, and your trunks and all. I can come join you, if you want, but what about your friend? I'm really tired of the prejudice, Fred," she said, sounding stern but also resigned. "I told your brother that, earlier, and I'm telling you. In my House, it's the blood status prejudice. Malfoy and Urquhart and their sort all thinking they're superior through no effort of their own. And in your House, it's all about where a person's sorted."

"That's another reason I think it'd be brilliant if you partnered with us," Fred said on impulse. "See, there'd be a collaboration between our Houses, even if no one else ever acknowledged it. And they'll know someday, Granger. They will. George and I are still thinking of that shop, you know? And if you're working with us, you'll be credited." She frowned a bit, a furrow appearing on her brow and he hurried to push the point before she found some reason to decline. Improvisation was his strong suit. "I know, it's not the big career you've wanted for yourself. You should be out there doing something intelligent and important. You mentioned research, right? George and I do talk, you know," he added at her startled expression. "Working with us wouldn't hinder that at all." He shrugged and cocked his head. "Not like we'd expect you to man the shop, yeah?"

"So, if I come join you in your compartment, what about your friend?"

"He can speak respectfully or find someone else to sit with."

"But, but he's your _friend_ ," she said quietly, as if trying to persuade him of something.

"So are you."

* * *

 _A/N: Happy? :) Have a good weekend!_


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Sixth Year DADA

_**A/N:** Wow! Hits on this story were huge last week. Thank you all so much! Warm welcomes to new readers and cups of hot cocoa to my regulars. :) Some of you expressed a liking for the final line of the prior chapter. Guess what? We start there in this one. :) _

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

 ** _Hogwarts, 1 September 1994_**

 _"So are you," Fred Weasley had told her, just hours before._

 _"Your friend?"_

 _"Of course! Think I go begging for owl treats for just anyone?" He had smiled up at her from the floor and she'd felt her heart sort of turn over in her chest._

 _"All right, then. I'll join you two. Want to carry Boudicca?"_

Settling on the unoccupied end of the Slytherin table, way in the rear toward the entrance of the Great Hall, Hermione still felt a smile try to break free. She controlled it, of course, and had not let it slip out once since she and the twins had parted ways after the carriage ride to the castle.

Lee Jordan hadn't joined them. In fact, he had left as soon as she had appeared in the twins' train compartment. But if he had stared or whispered or gossiped amongst his other friends, she didn't heed him. Nor did she pay outward attention to the halted conversations that fell to the ground around her and the twins as they left the train together and found a carriage. Together. Just the three of them.

The undercurrents had run deep and strong, but she had elected to ignore them in the small confines of the carriage. She hadn't forgotten the intensity of other of their encounters, though. She hadn't forgotten their focus on her lips as she'd licked the liquid meal from them long before, or the way they'd blushed at diverse times during their train trip that afternoon.

They had braved the displeasure of their House. For her. And though she was the furthest thing, perhaps, from a Hufflepuff, she knew how to be loyal.

She was loyal to her friends, the Weasley twins, and the knowledge of their open friendship kept her in warm company as she sat alone at the Slytherin table. She caught their eyes across the Hall and they smiled at her in their identical ways before turning to address whomsoever it was that was pestering them. Making them shake their heads so that their hair went shifting about. Making them gesture with emphasis.

Because of her. Ducking her head, she smiled at the table's polished surface. Just a little.

Then, the door opened not far from her and the gaggle of first years shuffled in, eyes wide in wonder as they followed Professor McGonagall.

Watching the Sorting as a fifth year student was a vastly different experience, Hermione reflected. She felt older, wiser, and less awed by everything from the celestial ceiling in the Great Hall to the imposing expressions on each and every member of the faculty at the high table.

When any one of the firsties were sorted to her House, she clapped with the rest as plain black robes and ties acquired the green and silver of Slytherin. None of them sat with her, though. They never did. The survival instinct ran strong in her House.

After the welcome feast and obligatory speech by the Headmaster, Hermione glanced across the hall at Fred and George. _I should try thinking of them as George and Fred_ , she told herself. What was happening with them, anyway? "We share," they'd said and written repeatedly. "We want to make people happy." And they'd sought her out, first in a clandestine manner and later not so much. What did that mean?

As she was preparing to leave the Hall, her Head of House swept down the floor to her, his gaze implacable. "Your timetables, Miss Granger. I wish to see you in my office regarding your choices for this term."

"Sir?" Frowning, she nodded and followed him from the Great Hall down to his office in the dungeons. She didn't presume to walk next to him; Professor Snape was in full billow mode, his robes almost like the wake of a speedboat that she tried not to cross. Shana Shacklebolt and Ilana Shafiq caught her eye as she strode past the common room but she only had time to shrug at them before they were out of sight.

Professor Snape canceled the wards on his office with a pass of his wand and a whispered phrase that didn't even reach her ear. He swept into the room, heading straight for his desk, where he perched himself on the edge and waited for her. The scents of old books and herbal potions ingredients permeated the air as he disturbed it.

She entered at his nonverbal invitation, coming to stand before him as had become their usual posture over the years. "Was there something wrong with my timetable, sir?"

He snapped his hand out, silently demanding she hand her copy of her own timetable over. She did so without pause, vastly curious and not a little concerned as he scanned it, looking archly down his prodigious nose as he did.

"You passed your O.W.L.s in History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts with Os, Miss Granger. This drastically affects the rest of your schedule. For example, you may choose to focus entirely on your other O.W.L. level courses this year and take up History and Defense next year with your class, giving yourself more time to focus on . . . which exams did you intend to study for?"

Calling forth the lists and charts in her memory, she recited, "Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Runes, Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, and Care of Magical Creatures. I had considered taking Muggle Studies as well, sir, just to see how I did, being Muggle-raised."

He frowned thoughtfully. "Very well. And I presume you wish to proceed to the N.E.W.T. level courses on all these that you pass with an E or better?"

"Yes, sir. Except, possibly Muggle Studies," she added with a wry half-smile.

"It is my considered opinion, Miss Granger, that you have another option open to you for this year, should you choose to explore it. You can consider taking Defense with the sixth year class, following with the seventh year and taking your N.E.W.T. for that subject at the end of next year. This would leave you open to pour all your efforts into other exams during your seventh year. Which might be advisable."

The possibilities streamed through her mind and she couldn't withhold her smile. "That would be ideal, Professor Snape," she said, rolling up on her toes. "I might be able to apply for internships early, as well." Seeing his rather droll expression, she calmed herself down. "If you found that to be appropriate, of course, sir."

"We will have a formal career appointment sooner rather than later, Miss Granger. If you go this route, we will exchange your Monday morning History of Magic class—which would be an utter waste of your time, as you've passed the exam—for Double Defense with the sixth years."

"That will mean with the new professor, won't it, sir?"

Her Head of House snorted roundly. "Alastor Moody. Yes, well. We're not friendly, he and I, but he was one of the most feared and respected Aurors in his day. He won't stint on the practical applications in his class. This much, I know. Do you wish to continue in History of Magic for your N.E.W.T. levels, Miss Granger?"

"I'm not sure, sir. I believe they'd be helpful to study, but I might wish to do so independently. Is that possible?"

He lifted both brows. "It might be possible, yes. I'll talk to the Headmaster."

"Thank you, sir."

"It's not as if Binns will notice, anyway," Professor Snape muttered behind one hand, handing her timetables back to her.

"Pardon, sir?" she asked, though she had heard him clearly.

"Nothing, Miss Granger. Why are you still here? You have to prepare for a very full course load."

"Yes, sir, Professor, sir."

"Such cheek. Oh, with Moody? Volunteer for duels and demonstrations."

"Pardon?" Surprised spiked in her mind; her Head of House rarely gave out such advice.

His eyes were very steady as they met hers. "You'll need to duel with the sixth years of your House, Miss Granger. Volunteer, and you will. Otherwise, you'll be left standing."

Realization sunk like ice in her stomach. "Of course, sir. I will."

"Good evening, Miss Granger."

* * *

 ** _5 September 1994_**

"We're really cutting it close for the first day," George remarked as the twins skidded around the corner on the third floor. Peeves, lingering in a shadowy corner, only grinned and did not comment.

"Seeing Filch covered in feathers, though? Smashing!" Fred's grin was broad with the memory of another successful prank. His school bag slammed into his back as he came to a full stop outside the DADA class door. "Ready, Forge?"

"Ready, Gred!" They were only taking four classes, after all, and they were thoroughly prepared to do well in them. George pushed the door open with just a minute or so to spare, but he didn't worry. Nice thing about being a twin: he never had to worry about a seating partner. He had one.

They entered the room as close as shoulder-to-shoulder as they could get. Fred nodded at Professor Moody—whose unusual eye they had sort of got used to staring at during meals in the Great Hall over the past few days—and crossed the room to get to the other side where the other Gryffindors were, when George tugged at his arm.

"Look," he whispered, with a jerky nod toward the Slytherin half of the class.

Fred almost dropped his books. There, near the front of the room, was a familiar head of wildly curly brown hair. He knew that head of hair, having watched it over the years. "Cor, what's she doing here?"

"Think we could sit on her side of the room?" George wondered. He felt the curious stares from members of his House as well as the suspicious looks from the green and silver contingent, but he decided not to heed them. He and Fred had something to prove, after all. They still felt that way, anyway.

Eventually, the atmosphere penetrated even Hermione Granger's concentration on her lesson preparation and she turned to see them. A smug smile lit her entire face. The smile of a brilliant prankster. It warmed George's heart.

But this time, it was Fred who tugged on _his_ sleeve. "Not right now. But when we go partners?" Defense always required pairing up with someone.

They caught the eyes of their fellow Quidditch players on the red and gold side of the room and smiled. "You ask her first," George suggested.

"I will."

They crossed the room and sat behind Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet. "What was that all about?" Angelina demanded in a loud whisper.

"Later," Fred said, nodding to the front of the room.

The Defense classroom was a dark and shadowy place. Ideally, George would have thought of things that could happen in such a place. Pranks to play, perhaps, or things they could hide that would manifest later. Unusual objects were scattered long the perimeter of the room, and he thought he saw a spider weaving a web in the nearest corner. The professor's desk at the front was huge, as always, but it seemed darker this morning. The blackboard behind it was, for the moment, blank.

And Professor Moody had been apparently waiting just for them to sit down because he started to speak. "I'm Alastor Moody," he began, scribbling his name on the board. "Ex-Auror. Ministry Malcontent," he added, turning toward the class and leaning on the desk. "And I'm your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." There was some shifting amongst the students on both sides of the room and the stout professor met several eyes with his good one. "I am here because Dumbledore asked me. Good bye. The end. Any questions?"

As the sixth year class was all supposed to be preparing for their N.E.W.T. exams, Moody said, he was going to jump right in with Unforgivables. "You've passed your O.W.L.s," he stated, stalking back and forth in front of the room like a caged lion, "so I am going to _assume_ that you know what they are and why they're unforgivable." His magic eye scanned the front row of students and landed on Granger.

"You. Name?"

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"What happens if you use an Unforgivable, Miss Granger?"

"One can be sent to Azkaban, Professor Moody."

"Right. Five points for Slytherin." He turned to write her answer on the board. "Now, I'm going to be teaching you how to defend yourself against these curses to the best of my ability. I believe in the practical approach." His stride as he moved to the front of the desk was awkward, and it was clear that he had an artificial leg. "You. Granger. You're volunteering."

At that, there was an instant chill in the room, and Fred half-rose to his feet before George pulled him back down. "She's got this. And she's too Slytherin to do anything stupid to a professor."

At that, Fred snorted and tried to get comfortable in his seat as Hermione stood and went to stand in front of the professor's desk.

Wand out, but held loosely at her side, Granger didn't seem even remotely nervous. Her head was held proudly and there was a glint in her brown eyes that the twins enjoyed seeing. "What am I volunteering for, Professor?"

"Resisting the Imperius Curse, Miss Granger."

After a heartbeat, she nodded slowly. "How does one do that, sir?"

At this, Moody turned to the class at large. "How indeed. What if a Death Eater invaded your school right now and wanted to put all of you under the Imperius Curse so you could slaughter the Headmaster? How would you fight this? How would you keep from doing it?" At those words, even Granger appeared a bit taken aback. George frowned, concerned, as Moody continued. "You," he went on, staring at Angelina. "What does the Imperius Curse do?"

Angelina stood. "Um, it causes the victim of it to whatever the caster tells them to do."

"Exactly. Your name?"

"Angelina Johnson, sir."

"Right, Miss Johnson. Five points for Gryffindor. Now, to defend against the curse requires a very strong mind. No incantation will do it. Just the recognition that your mind is being asked to perform in a way you didn't want." He spun to face Granger with uncanny speed. "Ready?"

She took a step back, her wand up a bit. "So, all I do is fight against it in my head?"

"Yes."

Fred grimaced when a flare of insecurity showed on her face. He knew she'd hate that he saw it. He hated that she felt it, but didn't blame her in the slightest. Dragging his focus off of her for a moment, he checked the expressions of the other Slytherins. Sixth years, while she was a fifth year, but even so. He had to smile a little; her Housemates didn't seem concerned for her at all. Was that because they knew she would do all right with this or because they were waiting for her humiliation?

A wickedly playful look came into the professor's true eye as he scanned the Gryffindor half of the room. Inwardly, George cringed. This was going to play right into the prejudice thing that Hermione took issue with. The professor faced the Slytherin girl and aimed his wand at her head. " _Imperio_!"

Hermione's whole face went slack, which was such a foreign sight that Fred had to actually blink and rub an eye to make sure that was what he was seeing. The Gryffindors were tittering in amusement, and the Slytherin's whispered amongst themselves as Moody spoke.

"I could tell her to walk out and fly to the Forbidden Forest on her broom," he declared. "And she'd do it. This is why this curse is unforgivable."

"Professor, she can't fly for shite," one of the Slytherins opined.

"She could if I told her to!" Then he smiled. "But I won't. Let's keep this in the room." He focused on her and made a small motion with the tip of his wand and then, she was moving. Walking. Her normally sharp eyes, dull.

Questions exploded all over the room and some of the Slytherins were getting to their feet. "What's she doing? What is she going to do?"

"Stay seated!" Moody shouted. "This is the other half of the curse's dangers. No one but the caster knows what will happen."

Suddenly, Hermione dropped down on her knees right next to Angelina, which astonished the twins. Worry churned in Fred's middle. What was Moody going to make her do?

"Professor?" Angelina asked, her voice nearly a whine with discomfort. "What is she supposed to be doing?"

Then everyone saw, and Fred and George were later surprised to find that they reacted differently in this one instance of their lives.

Hermione bent over to kiss Angelina's shoe.

Fred's eyes popped out of his head, his mind spinning with thinking how to talk to Hermione about this later, because surely she'd be furious. George, for his part, felt mortified on Hermione's behalf. He dropped his head to where his arms were folded over on the table he shared with Fred and waited for it to be over.

The rest of the room was torn with moans of disgust and snickers of amusement. And, from one of the Slytherins: "Professor Moody better keep his wand at the ready after this."

Abruptly, the girl in question bounced to her feet, wand held stiffly in her hand. The class as a whole took a collective gasp, waiting to see what she'd do. "No!" she said, her voice sounding like gravel as she turned to meet the professor's nearly rabid stare. "I will not say _that_. No." Without giving the man a chance to answer, Granger turned, her face so red as to be almost purple. Like a turnip, Fred thought. "Johnson. Sorry. I could't fight it soon enough."

The Quidditch player shook it off with an uncomfortable twist of her lips. "We know. We all know. So, yeah. It's fine, Granger." Then, in a small, small voice that perhaps only the twins and Alicia heard, she begged, "Please don't hex me."

Hermione Granger shook her head with two swift jerks. "Of course not." Her limbs were stiff, her focus entirely on some vacant space in front of her as she returned to her seat.

She didn't look at Professor Moody again until she was back in a fully formal classroom posture, Fred guessed, though he was unable to see more than her a quarter of her face from his angle. Then, he heard her speak with clear, even tones. "Professor Moody. I cannot believe that kissing someone's shoe would be part of a duel."

Moody clomped across the room until he was standing right in front of her. His regular eye was focused on her whilst his other one seemed to spin a bit in its artificial socket. "I could hardly get you to cast an Unforgivable on a classmate, Miss Granger, could I?"

George marveled at Hermione's apparent self-possession. From where he was sitting, her blush had disappeared and her face was smooth and attentive when she answered their professor. "I felt the compulsion for the second thing. It was easier to break."

To half the class's shock, their blustery instructor boomed out a laugh. "Well, you did better than I had anticipated. Twenty points to Slytherin for fighting it at the end."

After a bit, Moody left notes on the board for them to copy about Unforgivables and their consequences should they be survived, including treating oneself after a Cruciatus Curse. While they were taking notes, Fred nudged George.

"So, do we try to catch her at her table before she leaves or hurry to the hall and wait there?"

George dipped his quill in ink. "Need I remind you that there are two of us and that we share?"

"You're brilliant, Twin."

"I know."

As soon as the lesson was over, the boys scooped up their notes and books, arranging them with a bit of creative levitation into their school bags, half keeping an eye on their quarry.

"Psst! Granger!" George called, heading to her seat where she seemed to be doing her best to scurry away.

She shot him a brief, mortified look that made it seem as if she were about to cry before, when he paused to figure out how to handle that, she disappeared from view.

"Merlin. She Disillusioned herself, Fred!"

And, though the boys looked up and down and tried their best to feel around the corridor without looking too suspicious, they couldn't find her.

Fred twirled his wand between the fingers of his left hand, his face set and unwontedly serious. "Well, I'm not waiting until Monday to see her again."

"And _I_ propose that one of us sits with her next time."

"Yeah, keep her from running off, no matter what Moody does to her."

"Until then?" George scanned the Great Hall to see if she was visible there. "Maybe we could rig something in the Library?"

"Excellent!"

* * *

 _A/N: Next: Hermione tries her hand at teaching! And it's her birthday!_


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Dueling Friends

_**A/N** : Thank you to everyone who's riding with us, and especially to those who leave me lovely notes! Today's bow directed at **Meldz** , who caught review #500. Thank you! Thanks, too, to **BlackFeath** her contribution that had me rethink something. Heh._

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 ** _Hogwarts, 19 September 1994_**

Boudicca's entrance was rather unusual, that morning. Hermione's gracious Tawny Owl entered through the open windows near the ceiling of the Great Hall, apparently trailed by streaming green ribbons. She garnered the stares and wondering "Ooohs" of several students who saw her as they were dishing up their breakfasts at the various tables.

As if sensing the commotion, Boudicca flew in a slow circle, spiraling eventually to the Slytherin table. With a grin, Hermione stood to catch up her tired owl and free her of her burden. "Well done, my warrior queen. Well done. Here," she said, offering Boudicca some bacon and pouring out a cup of pumpkin juice in case she wanted something more substantial than water.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Happy Birthday! We hope you have a beautiful day. Hope you like this taste of home!_

 _Love,_

 _Mum and Dad_

Her heart warming at the scents wafting from the note, Hermione opened the ribbon-festooned box to find her favorite cookies. She offered one to Boudicca, kept one for herself, and tucked the rest away. "Thanks, my girl," she said again before Boudicca flew from the Hall to her dorm room.

Hermione spent the rest of breakfast trailing the curling ribbons through her fingers and smiling as she nibbled on a cookie, smiling as the ginger duo leapt from their own table and dashed off to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

The first time George claimed the seat next to hers in DADA, Hermione grinned, sure that he would be relocating as soon as his brother arrived in the room, but appreciating his gesture.

But then, Fred sat next to Angelina Johnson that Monday and Hermione didn't know what to think. She had managed not to talk to either twin since the embarrassing foot-kissing episode, but she couldn't help but wonder if Fred wasn't sitting near her and George because he preferred sitting with the pretty Quidditch player or because he didn't want to sit near the Slytherins.

All she knew for certain was that she hoped it was the latter rather than the former.

The following class, it was Fred who sat with her. They learned about Dark Creatures, such as Dementors and the Inferi, and how to defend against such creatures if at all possible.

"A Patronus is the most effective defense against a Dementor," the professor stated, "but it is a hard charm to master, so—"

Fred's hand went up like a shooting firework and Hermione didn't know whether to hiss at him to stop or merely try to suppress her own blush.

"Professor?"

Annoyance clear in each craggy, scarred line of his face, the professor merely said, "Mr. Weasley."

Undeterred by the blatant disinterest, Fred nudged her lightly with his knee before saying, "Granger, here, can cast a Patronus. I saw it with my own eyes."

"So did I!" George piped up from his seat far behind them.

Several other voices joined in, sounding surprised and maybe even offended, depending upon what House they were in, Hermione supposed.

"Wait! Was that the cat we saw at the O.W.L. Practical?"

"I saw it! It was really defined!"

"Sure didn't stick around long, did it, Granger?"

"Was she _trying_ to make the rest of us look bad?"

Alarm warred with something else that Hermione could not define on the Defense Professor's face. "Miss Granger? Can you demonstrate?"

Resigned, she remembered every lesson Professor Lupin gave her, concentrated on her awe-filled memory of that day on the train with the twins, years before, and resolutely did not look at either of them as they sat in the same room. Especially not Fred, whom she could have touched if she'd just stretched out her free hand.

" _Expecto Patronum_!" she called with clarity and confidence. From the tip of her wand, her beautiful caracal leapt with his lithe body in liquid motion. His ears were perked up and he immediately scouted out her immediate vicinity before sniffing at Fred and then, to her surprise, moving to investigate their professor. The caracal circled Professor Moody three times before crouching as if the disfigured man was prey or something.

"Er, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Does he always do this?"

"Not that I've seen, sir." _Is the man sweating? Here?_ She took that observation and tucked it away for later.

Perhaps the caracal heard or understood her, for it then leapt away from the professor and ran over the heads of half the class before vanishing through the rear wall.

Professor Moody took a swig from his flask, licked his lips, and asked the class to address any questions to her.

At first, there weren't any. Embarrassment burned deep under her skin. "What if we threw a party and nobody came?" was something that had happened to her the only time her parents had tried to give her a birthday party. She had been eight years old and, though the plans and preparations had been beautiful, not one of the invited guests had come to her party. She had done her best not to cry about it, wishing to act like a "big girl" in front of her parents, but that night, she'd soaked her pillow with her humiliation.

On the morning of the Patronus lesson, Hermione drew upon that memory—one of sorrow and shame—to keep her head up while an entire class apparently decided they'd rather face a Dementor and get kissed with death than ask her, a Muggle-born Slytherin, how to cast a Patronus.

Then, Fred just grinned at her, his whole face telling her he would learn from her. And George spoke up. "So, Granger. How do you learn how to do that?"

"Well, you have to remember it's all about controlling your conscious thoughts in the face of being frightened," she replied, trying not to sound too grateful that someone had asked her a question. "Remember the boggart in our—your—fifth year?" she asked, focusing on the students in her House. "You had to focus on not being afraid and have a visualization for how to change the boggart." She saw, to her honest surprise, some of the sixth years nod their heads. "With a Patronus, you learn to conjure it without that kind of stress, but—but I've seen a Dementor up close and it's quite frightening. Being able to bring forth the Patronus would have been . . . a challenge."

Professor Moody cleared his throat with a loud, clogged sound. "All of which is very pretty, Miss Granger, but how do you bring forth the Patronus itself?"

 _You're the DADA professor_ , Hermione thought. _You tell them_. She didn't say it, however. Instead, she kept her mask on, the face she wore when she didn't let others see that they'd hurt her. "First, think of your happiest memory. Make it real in your thoughts so that it is the center of your focus. Then, you call the incantation: _Expecto Patronum_ , loudly and confidently. That's important. Hold your wand straight in front of you at full extension." She dared to smile a bit. "No foolish wand waving, as Professor Snape says."

When she was finished, she returned to her seat and tried to calm her racing heart. As much as she enjoyed sharing what she knew, she hadn't had much occasion to do so in a long time, and it felt uncomfortable, but she also wanted to smile. That, however, would be a mistake.

Still, when Fred nudged her with his knee again, she met his warm brown gaze and blushed when he slid her folded parchment with a strip of leather inside.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Roses are red_

 _Violets are blue_

 _Some poems rhyme_

 _And others don't._

 _Which is why we're not giving you a poem for your birthday._

 _How about a bookmark instead?_

 _All the best,_

 _Fred & George_

Surprise sent color to her face again, and she tried not to let her fingers tremble as she smoothed them down the fringed leather bookmark with her first name worked into it.

It was the first gift she'd ever received that hadn't been from family.

Blinking back tears, she did her best to smile at Fred. "Thank you," she whispered. "It's perfect."

He met her smile with one of his own. "You're welcome."

Best. Birthday. Ever.

* * *

 ** _10 October 1994_**

"Did you see the house-elves filing out of the Hufflepuff Basement this morning?" Angelina asked Fred as they walked into the Defense class.

"Er, no," he admitted. "We were working on a project, George and I." Filch should be finding their little protest against their last detention duty in about ten minutes, actually, if they timed it right.

The new dung bombs were still experimental, though, so he wasn't sure if they would work or not.

George caught up to them, a grin on his face as he saw Granger already in the room. "I saw McGonagall waving her wand over the Hogwarts Banner in the Great Hall. It was gilded or something when she finished with it."

"Gilded?"

"What's going on?"

"There were elves polishing the head table this morning."

The observations buzzed about the room as Gryffindors and Slytherins filed in, absently taking their seats while they discussed the strange, sudden clean-up of the castle.

Professor Moody came in through the door that led to his office, his footsteps uneven and heavy. "Constant vigilance! Good on ya for noticing the changes. Keep your wits about you and your wand out of your back pocket."

George nodded at Hermione as he reached the empty seat next to her. "This seat taken?" he asked, as he did every other week.

This morning, she smiled at him and he felt his heart thump harder in his chest when he saw the faint color bloom in her cheeks. "It doesn't appear to be taken, Mr. Weasley."

He dropped down into it and grinned. "It is now."

She rolled her eyes. "Apparently so."

"Rumor has it that we're doing nonverbals today," George said, keeping his voice low and intimate so that she leaned a bit toward him. Slow and steady, he and Fred had agreed. They had a lot to make up for and they wanted to do it right. Plus, they wanted her to work with them.

 _Who's better at handling a tricky situation than Gred and Forge?_

Hermione nodded. "I had heard that, yes."

"So, will you partner with me?"

She darted a quick glance to meet his before focusing on arranging her parchment and quill. "If you're sure."

"Absolutely."

She sent him a startled grin. "Such enthusiasm, Mr. Weasley."

He made a show of buffing his fingernails on his robe. "It's a gift, Miss Granger." When she rolled her eyes, he made the decision to quit while he was ahead. He followed her example of getting his parchment and quill ready and resting his wand on top of it all, for ease of access.

Part of being good at pranking, at knowing how to make things to make people laugh, was knowing their limits, after all. Sure, he and Fred had made several teachers irritated over the years, but not too many had been _angry_. Because, as a responsible prankster, he and his twin knew when to play and when to back off.

As they entered into whatever _relationship_ they were pursuing with Hermione Granger, that was going to be a skill they needed.

Moody was already tippling, and he screwed the cap back on his ever-present flask. What was in that, anyway? Could he and Fred sneak it out of his possession for a half a moment and add something to what he was drinking?

 _What mixed well with alcohol, anyway, that would benefit the class?_

George's musings were interrupted with a thump of the professor's wooden leg against the hard floor. "All right, enough visiting. You weren't even watching for me. Constant vigilance! How do you think you'll live long enough to use anything I'm teaching you this year?"

An anonymous snorting sound arose from somewhere in the back of the room. George didn't _think_ it was Fred, but he wouldn't have bet Galleons against it. Moody's magic eye swiveled in its socket, but he didn't comment on the interruption.

"Today, we'll be working on nonverbal magic. I will assume, as you are N.E.W.T. students, that you managed to get your reading done before class. You will now divide into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

"Excellent," George whispered as he pushed away from the table he shared with Granger. "I've been wanting a rematch, anyway."

A wary sort of light flared momentarily in the girl's cinnamon brown eyes and he winced a little, internally. He never meant to make her wary, just to remind her of the fun he'd had dueling with her years before. She nodded and looked about. "D'you suppose we should move away from this part of the room?"

He caught Fred's eye. "Not sure. Maybe if you want to get away from Moody's desk?"

She eyed the cluttered top of that piece of furniture with a careful nod. "Not a bad idea. So," she asked as they relocated off toward an emptier space nearer the wall, "will Fred be joining us?"

"Looks like he's with Alicia, today, sorry." George caught the briefest of twitches the witch made and tucked the observation away to share later with his twin. "I'm sure he'd be happy to switch, though, if you want?" It was a bit of a tease, because he himself had no desire to duel with Alicia. He wanted to bounce his hexes off of Hermione, thanks so much.

His partner shook her head. "No. This is good. As you said, a rematch, right?" She bowed with all formality before assuming the proper combative position with her wand up and her focus steady. As it had years before, having her remarkable self focused entirely on him unsettled him in a way that he could now recognize as _good_. That shiver of anticipation down his spine combined with the smile that was trying to break out all over his face in distracting him from the business at hand.

Hermione lifted one brow in that wicked, Snape-like manner as she made a sharp flick with her wand. He immediately fell down as his knees turned to jelly. "Hey!"

"Shields, Weasley," she murmured, performing a whispered _Finite Incantatem_ on him so that he could rise again.

That bit of embarrassment served to banish the smile. He flung out a quick, silent _Expelliarmus_ followed by a Jelly-Legs jinx, but neither made it through her shields. He wandlessly reinforced his own.

They'd been attacking one another's shields rather fruitlessly for several minutes before Moody interrupted them. "Enough of this doxy-baiting, you two. Let's see some actual dueling, eh? Miss Granger, I saw you got through his defenses earlier. What happened? And Mr. Weasley, surely you're not going to let a fifth year best you?"

Granger smoothed her expression. "Mr. Weasley has been practicing, Professor Moody. His nonverbal shields are strong."

"So?" Moody flung a hex at her, and then two more. She grimaced, moving her wand and free hand to counter each one, but the final hex got through and she hissed in pain. "There, Miss Granger. That's how you do it. You have to send them fast and dirty if you want to get through a shield."

With a roll of her shoulder, she held up her wand. "I'm just going to fix this, now, sir. Don't fire."

"No you won't," the former Auror declared with something George decided was glee. He immediately tensed and wondered if he could get under Moody's shields.

"C'mon, Professor," he said instead. "What did you hit her with?"

"A Stinging Hex. See? It's swelling some right there on her shoulder. Hurts, does it?"

Face set, lips almost white with the pressure she was putting on them, Granger nodded.

George moved to stand next to her so they could both confront Moody. "Look, sir, she won't be any good to practice with if she's hurting." A Stinging Hex was more than just painful; it pulled and stretched where it was cast so that movement was impaired and everything. A pain potion didn't really help, either. The hex had to either wear off or be lifted. Neither of which the professor seemed to want to do.

"The pain will teach you something, there, girl. So learn." Moody's odd eye spun to study George. "And you keep at it. Same lesson for you. Learn it or you'll be hexed next."

Granger clenched her fist and rolled up on the balls of her feet, but George could see how she immediately tamped down whatever response she had wanted to make. The girl was nothing if not careful.

Not for the first time, George wondered how she might have done if she hadn't been sorted into Slytherin, where cunning was the key to survival and where everyone had to look out for themselves. What if she'd been a Gryffindor? Would she have been more confrontational? He'd seen her, once or twice, break out in some spontaneous emotion, whether it was worry or happiness, but she always retreated behind that bloody Slytherin mask.

Still, she was a survivor. And she was a hell of a duelist. So, that was something.

"Ready, Granger?" he asked after Moody stepped heavily away.

With a nod, she lifted her wand again. "Shall we?"

He didn't want to hex her, was the problem, while she was still suffering from the hex Moody had hit her with. Still, he tried, using the Jelly-Legs Jinx because it didn't _hurt_ as much as it _embarrassed_ a person. He saw her cast with her wand hand and then reinforce her shield with her free hand. He tried to do likewise, and soon was grinning at the feeling of being pushed so hard and compelled to learn to do this so effectively.

"Oi! George! Good going!"

He laughed, but didn't take his eyes from his opponent even when his brother called. "Thanks!" He took a deep breath and wiped sweat from his forehead. "Done?"

"Yeah. You?" Fred's voice drew nearer, but George didn't dare look away from Granger. He was tired and getting distracted by both his brother and the way Granger's face was losing some of its implacability. Her hair was getting more wild, too, as they dueled and for some reason, he really liked that.

Blowing out a breath, he decided to go for a finale just as Granger got his wand, despite his shield.

"Ha!" she shouted, sounding amused.

He, though, would have the last laugh. He wandlessly cast a tripping hex at her feet so that she fell over on her knees, but he didn't keep her from saving herself as she fell. Still, both her wand and his own clattered lightly to the floor.

He grinned down at her. "Ha," he said with quiet triumph before offering her his hand.

She scowled up at him for a moment, then at Fred. Then, she pushed herself to her knees before accepting his hand. "Good duel," she admitted.

Nodding in agreement, George made a show of retrieving their wands and bowing her back to their seats. Fred joined them, dragging a chair to Granger's other side. "So, want to meet up in the Library later?"

Surprise exploded in her eyes. "Seriously?"

"Well, unless we get detention. . ."

* * *

"Where're you off to, Granger?" Shacklebolt asked. Her roommate was giving herself a pedicure with shiny, emerald green polish. "More revising?"

Urquhart was experimenting with brewing personal fragrances on her chest of drawers. At the moment, their entire room smelled like verbena. "Tell the Mudblood that kissing up to Professor Moody isn't going to do her any favors." Her redheaded roommate still, after years of sharing space, didn't speak to her directly. Hermione had learned to hide her smile when the other girls in the room rolled their eyes or made exasperated noises at the overly elite behavior.

Shacklebolt just shook her head. "Will do, Patrice. Bugger, I caught the tip of the nail. I'll need another coat to smooth it out. Granger, would you take my copy of _Dreams That Speak_ to the Library?

"Sure." _Accio Library book_ , she thought, silently calling the thin, red-covered book to her. No one paid her the slightest heed, which she supposed was all right, else Urquhart would be sniffing about Mudbloods getting above themselves.

"And don't forget curfew." Shacklebolt eyed her with brows raised high.

Hermione nodded. "I won't." She had, two weeks ago, but Shacklebolt had surprised her by covering for her and not setting her to a detention. Hermione felt like she owed their year's female Prefect.

Not that either of them would say so aloud at this juncture. Favors would be called in quietly.

Pushing the reminder aside, Hermione slung her school bag over her shoulder and headed up from the dungeons. No one in the common room hexed her that evening, and the murmurs of "Mudblood" were low enough that she could ignore them without incident. In the Great Hall, on her way to the main stairs to go to the Library, she saw three professors huddled in some quiet discussion. Interestingly, one of them was her Head of House who, upon seeing her, made a quick motion with one hand to cast what was clearly a silent _Muffliato_.

Studying them surreptitiously, Hermione moved slowly on her way to her destination. They were tense, all three of them. She had noted a similar tension with a couple other professors over the weekend, as well.

What was going on? She frowned, climbing the stairs carefully. Extra cleaning. Spiffying up the tapestries. Tense teachers. Were they going to have an inspection? They never had before, at least during her years at Hogwarts. Were they expecting someone? Well, clearly.

Perhaps she could ask Professor Snape. Later.

When she reached the Library doors, she slid her concerns about possible company away to think about the Weasley twins, whom she would be meeting shortly. She was trying to figure out what was happening, there. They were not avoiding her, so that was a positive. The plans were to work on Portable Magic as well as helping her study for her O.W.L.s in Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology, which they had passed with Os. They were friendly, helpful, and now seemed not to care a whit if anyone said anything to them or to her about their developing friendship.

So they were friends. And she believed they really were. That she had a definite crush on not just one, but _both_ of them was her own problem. And that she had made them think about _that_ , that one time, was not important because they clearly hadn't done anything along _those_ lines since. She wouldn't dream of sharing her feelings, for she might be left vulnerable and looking foolish—neither of which was acceptable. Besides, she couldn't be thinking of _that_ with _two_ boys, could she? But she _could_ be friends with both of them.

She scouted out and claimed a table that had enough empty seats, spreading her books and parchments to cover them. Not that she anticipated anyone trying to join her, but it was best to be prepared. Then, she allowed herself a small smile as she started a letter to her parents. Boudicca was getting restless, anyway.

 _Dear Mum and Dad,_

 _Having a good week so far. How are you doing? Is the new hygienist working out? Still considering expanding into orthodontics? I could use help with my overbite._

 _Had a really good lesson in Self Defense, today. (_ She called it that for her parents so they wouldn't worry. She could only imagine what a class called Defense Against the Dark Arts would make them think!) _The professor got me, but he was in law enforcement before coming here, so I don't feel too badly about that. I had new sparring partners, as well._

 _I even think they're friends. You met them at the train station in September, Dad, as a matter of fact. The Weasley twins. The boys with the red hair? Them. They've been great this year and have promised to help me study for my exams, as they've taken and passed them already. In return, I'll be helping them with problem solving on a new line of magic we'll be researching together._

 _This could be very exciting research!_

 _So, school is improving. I hope you are well and will write soon._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

Just as she finished, the twins appeared near the table she had reserved for them and greeted her with identical smiles. "Granger!" Fred said, pushing a pile of parchment toward her and taking the seat it had guarded. "Writing love letters already?"

She laughed and folded her letter carefully. "No. Just to my parents. How's your mum?"

The boys exchanged a look. "Oh, well. You know. She's always busy about something."

"Knitting," George added with a nod. "Always knitting."

"I wanted to learn to knit," Hermione said, stacking the books and papers the boys had returned to her. "But then I found out I was a witch."

George grinned. "That put knitting right out of your head, did it?"

"Learned to hex instead, yeah?" Fred pulled out a book. "Or maybe you just became charming?" The text was a Charms textbook.

She and George both groaned, causing Madam Pince to glare at all of them. "Sorry, Madam Pince," Hermione said softly, while sliding the book over so she could open it. "And Fred! You've left notes!" She darted him a narrow look. "You wrote in your book?"

"I did! But George's text is still pristine, Pince-in-Training, so it can be safely passed down to Ron and Ginny."

"Well, I suppose it's all right, then . . ." She flipped through to see some of the careful margin notes. "You're very precise."

"Have to be, Granger. We may seem like careless pranksters, but it's an art."

"And a science," George said, whipping out a quill and parchment. "We don't talk a lot of about science, I know, but since we talked about Portable Magic, and working with non-magical people—"

"Like Muggles and Squibs," Fred inserted.

"We thought we should be able to use terms they'd understand."

Hermione couldn't help the smile that came to her face. "That's brilliant! The Art and Science of Portable Magic. Sounds like a textbook! You could be authors!"

"Or . . . we could open that shop."

With her smile intact, she nodded. "Or you could open that shop. So. How can I help?"

"Well, we thought we'd start with some sort of shield you could wear, you know? Something that would come between a man and a hard surface if he fell, without being obvious."

Hermione bit her lip and watched as Fred sketched out a rough diagram of a person on his parchment. "You're worried about the Statute of Secrecy, right?" she asked.

"Yeah," George murmured. "So. How can we do this?"

"Well, I was thinking of making it like some Portkeys are made, you know?" Hermione met each of their eyes, leaning forward a little over the table. "Password activated with an imbedded charm for whatever it was you were wanting to have happen."

The boys lit up and started talking really fast. "It'd have to be a pretty specific password."

"What about being reusable?"

"Do we want it reusable, George, or do we want them to have to buy a new one every time?"

Hermione chuckled. "Planned obsolescence. The boon of inventors everywhere."

"Plant whatsits?"

With a smile, she explained about the way some manufacturers made products that would need to be replaced. The twins thought it was brilliant. "Planned obedience."

"Ob-so-LES-cence."

"Obfuscation?"

She knew they were pulling her leg, but she tried once more anyway. "Ob. So. Less. Ents." They wouldn't have heard of Ents, but she remembered _The Lord of the Rings_ with fondness.

"Think we could make a product with that word?" Fred jested.

George shook his head. "Only if we got Granger, here, to spell it out for us."

The discussion didn't end until Madam Pince asked them to leave, with a great deal of insinuations and eyebrow heaving, just before curfew.

* * *

 _A/N: My best wishes to my readers who celebrate Hanukkah, which will begin this Sunday evening. May light shine in your hearts throughout the festival. Have a great weekend!_


	18. Chapter Seventeen: In Front of Everyone

**A/N:** _In the books, apparently there were classes on the 30th of October (per the wikia). However, the calendar indicates that the 30th is a Sunday and as far as I know, there weren't classes on Sundays. So, we're going with this._

 _My thanks to ShayaLonnie for rec'ing this fic and sending folks over. Good to see all y'all._

 _AND, as some of you might know, I am going to be speeding up my posting schedule. Just because._

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

 ** _Hogwarts, 30 October 1994_**

Boudicca was ruffling her feathers before huddling into the bottom of her cage when Hermione roused herself on the final Sunday of October. The owl glared balefully when Hermione wrapped her robe about herself, slid into a pair of padded leather slippers, and shuffled toward the side table with the wrought iron cage. "Chilly, O Warrior Queen?" she inquired. Guessing that to be the case, Hermione quietly accessed the bottom drawer of her chest of drawers for a spare pillowcase. "Let's see what I can do, yeah?"

Holding the stark white cotton in her hands, she imagined it to be larger and more dense than it was. Fortunately, the cotton was dense already; her mother had purchased her eight-hundred thread count bedding for this term, with extra pillowcases, because they were always conscious of bacteria near the face. "Wash them every chance you get, pumpkin," she'd been instructed since her first year. "Hot water with bleach. That will do nicely."

And, truly, it was comforting to smell the bleached cloth, once she had explained to the house-elves what she wanted. As thanks for their extra help, knowing they sometimes wore pillowcases as garments, she allowed the two she dealt with most often to choose a pair of pillowcases if they wished for themselves.

"Miss isn't giving us clothes, is she?" one of them, Libbet, had asked with worried wrinkles.

Shaking her head, Hermione said that wasn't the case. "I'm just offering you an upgrade, you know. Brighter whites to embroider the school crest on, or whatever you prefer. If you'd rather, I can give you chocolate? My Housemates liked the chocolate."

Libbet chose the pillowcase while her counterpart, Sorki, chose chocolate.

Due to this type of occurrence, Hermione chose to keep extra pillowcases about. Never hurt to have gifts for the staff. Her parents had taught her well. Thus, on a cold morning, it was simple enough to transfigure a large while pillowcase into a something rather like a tea cosy for Boudicca's cage. "There, girl. What do you think?" she whispered to the Tawny Owl. "Mightn't that help? I'll see if I can find some actual batting and such to make you a nice cosy for true next Hogsmeade weekend." After pouring fresh water into the owl's bowl and leaving some of the newest owl treats for her, Hermione gathered her shower gear and left for the bathroom.

As it was Sunday, Hermione didn't bother with her school uniform. It was chilly and she wished to be warm. She examined her reflection in the mirror was satisfied. She'd let her hair grow at her mother's advice, to give weight to the curls and so keep it less wild. Though it was still thick and hard to manage, her hair no longer looked as if it were a hedge needing a trim. Her skin was clear—for this, she was grateful. That's all she'd need would be to have another name to be called in addition to Mudblood. "Spotty Swotty" might have been a moniker if she'd had spots. But no, that was one worry she didn't have. Her figure, in the dark jeans and Slytherin green jumper, was well enough for a fifteen-year-old girl. Curves where they belonged, but not showy. Her legs weren't long or model-worthy, but they reached the ground and that was what mattered. All the running up and down stairs kept them trim. Her feet were nice enough, and the black Muggle trainers fit well and weren't scuffed.

Makeup? For whom, the twins? She might wish, but she wouldn't actually put herself forward in that way. Still…maybe some mascara? Not too over the top, surely.

So, with a small smile, she applied a coat of mascara to bring out her eyes. Nothing obvious—she was living in a House that believed in the value of subtlety—but there. Then, she tucked a book on applying latent charms to inanimate objects under her arm and went down to breakfast.

Of course she didn't expect the Weasley twins to join her. They never had, not in the Great Hall. Their domain was the Library and the DADA class. Sunday breakfast, though, was informal so the idea that they _might_ join her was not _entirely_ out of the realm of possibility.

 _Or,_ she told herself, _you could join them? Bring the book and see if they wanted to talk about their project with the Don't Break Your Bum charm, or whatever they'd call it?_

There were some Gryffindors already eating. Potter was there, with Weasley. Potter, she could probably sit with until Fred and George— _no, George and Fred, don't get in a rut_ —Weasley's little sister, too. She was called _The Weaslette_ in Slytherin. Not a terribly kind girl, but she did stand up for herself.

Hermione inhaled sharply through her nose. _I'll try it. What's the worst that could happen? They'll try to hex me. I'll go shielded. They'll call me names. They're just Gryffindorks, right? They could say mean things about me to the boys. Nah, wouldn't matter. They know me pretty well, don't they? And we're friends, aren't we?_

 _All right, then_. She executed a quick shield about herself, of the variety she had been apt to use in the Slytherin common room. Stepping quickly across the Hall to the Gryffindor table she caught Potter's attention.

"Potter."

He looked up, eyebrows well over the rims of his eyeglasses. "Granger?"

Weasley spoke before she could answer. "Oi, mate, what's she doin' here?"

Another waved her off as if she were a flying insect. "Hey, Viper, go on. Back to your own kind."

"Mudblood. Get away from here," came a lone directive from someone about the middle of the table.

Angelina Johnson, though, half-stood at her seat and flung a lock of dark hair over her shoulder. "Do _not_ piss this witch off," she advised, pointing to Hermione. "I've seen her in Defense." Then, she cocked her head. "They're not coming down, neither of 'em. They've been making something smell just awful in their dorm."

Lee Jordan, who didn't care for Hermione and likely never would, agreed with the Quidditch player. "It was a right horrid stench, Granger. So, go on. They won't be down."

Potter had been watching the various members of his House but when they finally shut up and just stared at her, he got to his feet and nodded at her book. "Did you need something in particular, Granger?"

"Er, yes. We've been working on a project. Defense. And, well, it'll wait, won't it? Thank you, Johnson, Jordan. Thank you, Potter."

She didn't look back as she returned to her customary vacant end of the Slytherin table. Inside, though, she was trying to figure out if that had been a positive experience or a negative one. On the negative side, she'd heard an insult, been told to leave, and hadn't been able to speak with either George or Fred. On the positive side, Johnson and Potter had been civil to her. Even Jordan had. And no one had hexed her.

It was good enough. She nodded with satisfaction as she sat down to eat her porridge and bacon.

* * *

Things changed dramatically that evening.

"Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event," Dumbledore had announced. "The Triwizard Tournament." He went on to explain how three schools would come together and a Champion would be chosen from each and that, "These contests are not for the faint-hearted."

Hermione watched first the students from Slytherin. Her Housemates heard the announcement with a wary attention, taking their cue from Professor Snape, who sat, hands steepled before his nose, at the head table. The Gryffindor contingent was voluble and excited. The Ravenclaws looked to be plotting, and the Hufflepuffs appeared to be willing to make a strong showing, no matter what.

"But first, we must go out to meet our guests! So, your Heads of House should have informed you to bring a coat or cloak, yes? Then, come. We'll go out and greet the new arrivals from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute."

Confusion would have reigned immediately if not for the loud voices of three Heads of House. Professor Snape had only to raise one hand, however. It was an open hand, held in a "wait a moment" position. The other houses made a clamor on their way out of the castle. Loud shouts, challenges, and jokes as well as speculations abounded with their noise. Not so the House of Salazar Slytherin. They spent their time waiting in doing up their coats, cloaks, and capes. Some took the time to smooth hair and straighten ties, as well. Not for _them_ to look disheveled in front of company.

At length, Professor Snape bid them follow, and they did, with Hermione bringing up the rear, but that allowed her to choose where to stand when they had gathered outside, a little apart from the other Houses. Hermione wove around the edges of her House and came to stand behind and to the left of their Head. He felt her there, she was certain, and turned to offer her a slight nod. She returned it, but no more.

The Headmaster approached, his beard tied into some sort of confining tail—to keep it from flying in the autumn breeze, she imagined. "Come, Severus. Join the rest of us."

"Karkaroff is coming from Durmstrang," Professor Snape replied, his voice low and intense. "I thought it best to draw him and his students to us, so I can better watch over them, see if there are any persons . . . of interest."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Ah, yes. Good idea, Severus. Thank you." He glanced up and his face lit with a grin. "Why, look! It's Madam Maxime!"

A chorus of acclamation rose from all the Hogwarts students as carriages pulled by flying horses came into view in the sky from the southeast.

"Cor! That'd be amazing!" Hermione held back her smile. That had been none other than George Weasley.

Followed closely by his brother Fred. "I wonder if we'd be able to take a peek inside one? To see if it's the carriages or the horses that make them fly?"

"Hush!" Professor McGonagall demanded, her voice carrying through the light breezes. "Manners, boys. Manners."

The carriages landed safely, one by one, until all were on the ground. Only then did the lead carriage open to disgorge a woman who rivaled Hagrid in size. "Madam Maxime!" Dumbledore called, sounding formal and flirtatious all in one. Hand outstretched, he reached the extremely tall woman and kissed her offered hand. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

" _Merci_ , Albus," the lady said, her French accent heavy. " _Venez tous!"_ she called.

The other carriages opened simultaneously and Hermione could not repress her smile that time, for it seemed almost every male student over the age of twelve was gaping a the pretty girls who emerged from the blue vehicles of Beauxbatons.

"Welcome, welcome," Dumbledore called, bowing to them all as they lined up to curtsy to him.

"Welcome!" The greeting came in English, French, and even a few other tongues from students in Ravenclaw, likely, who were showing off.

"Wonder if they're all experts at _French_ kissing?" Malfoy murmured slyly somewhere off to Hermione's right.

Then, young _men_ came out of the carriages! Hogwarts girls erupted in a soft wave of appreciation for the handsome lads who had been asked to represent their school. Attired in suits a darker blue than the carriages, the young men bowed to Dumbledore before stepping in between the girls, so that they were alternating male and female.

"A fine introduction," Hermione remarked under her breath. "Very impressive."

"Indeed," her Head of House murmured.

Another round of " _Bienvenue_!" and "Welcome!" sounded from the Houses. Even Patrice Urquhart called out her own welcome to the newcomers.

 _She'll die of shock if one of them turns out to be a half-blood_ , Hermione thought with a sneer.

Dumbledore was in the process of ushering the French students out of the windy evening, letting them know of the accommodations made for them and where they'd be seated for the Welcome Feast, when a huge sucking sound preceded a splash from the Black Lake.

"Wow," Hermione whispered as an enormous vessel rose up, shedding water, from the lake. She didn't hear any motors or anything, but it could only be powered by magic, right? The ship let down a gangway to the shore in a very short amount of time while all of her schoolmates watched, agape, as did the Beauxbatons students, whispering and exclaiming in French.

"Severus, join me in welcoming our brethren from Durmstrang!" Dumbledore invited, though his tone was nothing short of commanding.

Professor Snape sighed softly, then straightened his shoulders. "Of course, Headmaster." The two men strode to meet the imposting, fur-coated figure of a man who stalked down the gangway to the ground. Their words were impossible to hear as the lake was rather at an inconvenient distance, but Hermione saw soon enough that the students could be appreciated regardless.

"Krum!"

"Who?" Hermione asked of the open air.

"Ignorant Mudblood!" Malfoy's voice carried every ounce of elitism he could muster, she was sure. He daren't attack her, she thought. Not in a public place with guests arriving. "Viktor Krum is _only_ one of the best Quidditch Seekers in the world. He played for Bulgaria in the World Cup this past summer. I," the boy went on, smoothing his hair back with a smile, "was able to attend. My father had box seats."

"Thank you, Malfoy," she replied, keeping her voice cool.

She remembered Professor Snape had referred to a man named Karkaroff and she wondered if the first man was him, for he and her Head of House were still speaking. Krum was right next to that man, his face set in stern lines, as if he had a duty to do. It was a nice face, though. Strong, she thought, if not particularly handsome.

Filing out of the ship, two by two, were the rest of the Durmstrang students. They all looked older, more mature, be they boys or girls. They all wore blood red capes lined with fur. All had black boots. She paid careful heed, though, for they all walked as if they were shielded against attack.

It was a familiar feeling.

"Come," Professor Snape said as he swept by their House. "Introductions will wait. For now, let us make our guests welcome at the fine table of Slytherin."

"Yes, sir!"

And, seemingly following the stern example set by their guests, Hermione and all her House marched right back into the castle and the Great Hall, where a Welcome Feast was already appearing on the tables.

Roast pork was sliced on pewter platters, accompanied by a variety of vegetables, baskets of rolls, butter, and bowls of raw fruit and vegetables for those who preferred such. Hermione went easily to her usual place at the end of the table, but she was shocked to find herself almost immediately surrounded by the students of Durmstrang.

"Good evening," she said, nodding to them all with a sweep of her head. "Welcome to Hogwarts." _Manners_ , she reminded herself. "I'm Hermione Granger, and this is the Slytherin table."

There were perhaps twenty students clustered around her end of the table, for they hadn't yet seated themselves. One of the girls from Durmstrang, whose chestnut brown hair was bound up in a thick braid like a crown atop her head, nodded to her. "Thank you for your welcome," she said in a voice that seemed to have a Russian accent. "I am Stasia Ivanova and these are my fellow students." She went around, naming each of them, male and female. Some of them smiled and greeted her, some of them merely nodded. She ended with, "And this is Viktor Krum."

Krum seemed to be poised against something unpleasant, but he held himself well enough. She merely nodded and welcomed them all again, asking them to please be seated. "I can move, if you'd like to dine without an interloper," she offered sincerely.

" _Non_!" one of the young men—she believed his surname was Galois—protested. "Stay. We cannot all _speak_ English, but we can often understand."

"Is there a language you all speak?" she asked, curious enough to forget to serve herself dinner, though the Durmstrangers were not thus impaired. "I didn't know you were coming, so was unable to do any research." She smiled a little. "I'll sort that out soon, though."

Upon being told that French was more or less a common tongue, she was able to switch to that readily enough. She discovered the course of study at Durmstrang worked a lot more with what she would deem darker magics than she was accustomed to. Also, they were more formally involved in dueling and harder potions work.

"So, no Muggle Studies, I'm guessing?" she asked with a wry smile.

Galois coughed on a laugh. "No. What for? Who of us will live with them?"

"Are you not going to eat?" The question came from her immediate right, where Viktor Krum had seated himself. She hadn't spoken much to him directly, but she was indeed aware of the imposing amount of space he took. "Your plate is empty."

He spoke in French as well, but it was accented with something she couldn't identify. She blushed. "Er, sorry. Of course I plan on eating. You're just all more fascinating than food."

Stasia Ivanova grinned at Krum before asking her, "Do you play Quidditch?"

The name of the game sounded odd amidst all the pretty French. "No. But I do watch the games when my House plays." She turned more directly to Krum. "I understand you are a Seeker?" At his nod, she tried to be polite. "Our Seeker is over there, the blond boy. His name is Malfoy."

"Bad faith?" Galois said in English. He laughed again, for he certainly seemed more prone to do so than his peers. "That is a hard name to live with."

Hermione didn't wish to respond directly to that, so she was about to steer the conversation to the Triwizard Tournament itself when Professor Snape stood to garner their attention. The table hushed instantly.

"Students," he said, his voice carrying all the way to the far end where Hermione and the others sat, "Headmaster Karkaroff of Durmstrang is interested in polishing his students' dueling skills. He has asked to be introduced to our best."

Hermione felt her face go white, then red as she strove not to react in any other way. Her heart pounded in her chest and she wondered if Krum, next to her, could hear it over the sudden hush that had smoothed over the conversations in the Great Hall at large.

Selwyn, their most senior Prefect, who would be graduating at the top of the House come June, stood. "Granger, sir."

Others nodded, with an enthusiastic smile from Shana Shacklebolt that surprised Hermione. Professor Snape caught her eye and his mouth twitched just enough for her to see it. He cocked his head at her as if to ask, _Ready for this, Miss Granger?_

Of course she wasn't, but she swallowed back the bile that threatened when her Head of House beckoned to her to come forward.

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore called from the head table. "I'm sure that our guest would be interested in the duelists from the other Houses as well."

"I vish only to know who Snape knows," Karkaroff declared, his nostrils flared as if in challenge.

Professor Moody slammed down his flask and stood. "I'll duel him personally."

"Alastor!"

"Fine. Let Granger do it. She'll do well enough."

"Granger!" The shout came from the twins across the Hall and Hermione let herself look to them, for they'd both fought her before. Their grins were bright and both of them nodded in approbation.

Karkaroff looked up her up down. "You are best?"

"I did not say so, sir." She stood with her back as straight as she could make it, wishing she were taller just this once.

He frowned and shook his head. "You are playing joke on me, Snape."

Her Head of House lifted a brow. "Not at all, old friend. She is quite good."

"Tomorrow. She vill duel vit vone ov mine."

"Is that acceptable, Miss Granger?" Professor Snape asked, turning slightly to face her. His eyes told her to accept the challenge, so she nodded, "Good. We will speak of this after the feast, then. In my office. All right, Igor?"

" _Da_. Is good."

She just bowed her head and stepped as quickly as she could down the long table to return to her place. It felt as if every eye in the entire Hall were on her, from the Headmaster's all the way to the youngest Hufflepuff's. Heart still thudding away, she didn't meet any of those many, many eyes until someone called her name.

"Granger! You are not worthy to represent our House!"

She froze and turned, casting her dueling shield nonverbally before meeting Malfoy's anger-red face. "Malfoy?"

He leapt to his feet, his usual minions on either side. She backed up, not waiting for anyone to help. She had been on her own in Slytherin since the day she was Sorted and to look for help hadn't even crossed her mind in years. She blocked out other sounds as well, to be able to concentrate on the threat in front of her.

It took less than a minute. Crabbe and Goyle cast with large gestures, light flaming from the tips of their wands before crashing into her shield. But the damage had been done to it, and when Malfoy shouted, " _Densaugeo_!" the violet light from his wand _did_ penetrate her shield.

The results were immediate and, to her, devastating.

Her front teeth started to grow, long and fast, and she felt them brush her chin. She couldn't speak around them. She daren't turn her back on Malfoy, though, so she nonverbally flung the Stinging Hex at him, aiming for his knee, once again, to debilitate him before silently disarming him.

"Filth! Mudblood filth! My father will hear about this!"

Hermione was able, at last, to turn as the minions were kneeling on the floor next to the blond tyrant. She bowed her head to hide her face and tried to disillusion herself, but Professor Snape was approaching, his face a blank mask, and she didn't want to anger him.

And then, she received something of a shock. "Hermione! Hermione!"

* * *

 _A/N: The more things change... See you tomorrow! (Yes!)_


	19. Chapter Eighteen: In the Infirmary

**_A/N:_** _I have to thank_ ** _Katmom_** _for her encouragement, support, and for making recommendations when I slip up. She gets my first drafts first and has read, literally, everything I've ever published anywhere._

 _My thanks, too, to everyone who is following this story, adding it to their lists, and BIG thanks to everyone who reviews! Today's curtsy to **historygirl1863** , who caught review #600. Thank you so much!_

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen**

 ** _Hogwarts, 30 October 1994_**

A pair of redheads were running across the Great Hall, shouting her name in front of everyone, blowing through the line of Durmstangers who had, it appeared, stood between her and the rest of the Hall. "Hermione!"

Stasia Ivanova held her wand up and Hermione couldn't say anything around the beaver teeth in her mouth. "Who are you?" the Russian girl demanded of the twins.

"Her friends, we swear on our magic," Fred stated loudly—sounding desperate, as Hermione would recall later, when she wasn't so horribly humiliated. "We'll get her to the Hospital Wing."

"Granger?" Stasia placed a gentle hand on her head. "You'll go with them?"

Hermione nodded, feeling her eyes hot and wet with tears she refused to shed. She hadn't actively wept since her first week at Hogwarts and she was _not_ going to start now.

Professor Snape confronted the twins as well, and Hermione felt dreadful. Not only was everyone staring, but her friends were having to fight to get to her and that wasn't fair.

Professor Snape's tone was unconcerned, but direct. "Weasleys. You'll take her to Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes, sir, Professor Snape," Fred stated.

"Tell her I'll be up to check on Miss Granger later this evening. And boys, I expect you will take care of my duelist."

Hermione didn't lift her head to look, but George sounded almost defensive when he said, "Of course, sir. No one will bother her. Not while we're there."

"Miss Granger, go on, then. Poppy will see to you."

Still unable to raise her eyes, Hermione let the Weasley twins flank and guide her out of the Great Hall. She pretended she didn't hear, "And _she_ is _best_?" as she left the Slytherin table.

Fred had her left arm, George her right as they hurried from the Hall. "Come on, then, Hermione," George said, his voice encouraging. "You did all right, there. Three on one is more than anyone was expecting over dinner."

Fred laughed a little as the door closed behind them. "True enough. Really, you seem to be more of a _two_ on one kind of girl."

"Fred!"

"What?"

"Not now, you git. She's been hexed!"

"I'm just saying—"

Hermione pulled her arms from their hands and patted them each on the back. As clearly as she could manage, she said, "Hahnk ooh."

Fred caught her left hand. "Was that _Thank you_?"

She nodded and he squeezed her hand. "You're welcome."

Grabbing her other hand, George swung it as if they were children in a park. "Did you notice that, Granger? Right there, in front of the whole school."

Her cheeks heated again as they approached the Infirmary. "Hahnk ooh."

Fred opened the Infirmary door. "Madam Pomfrey! We've got a patient for you!"

"Sent straight from Snape! He said he'd be by later," George told Madam Pomfrey.

The matron was wiping her hands on her apron as they entered. "Oh, Misters Weasley. What have you done to this girl?"

Hermione looked up, knowing for sure that both boys would stare, too. "Ott hem."

"I think she said it wasn't us," Fred decided.

She nodded and gestured for them to explain while the matron examined her. "What spell was cast?" she inquired, tipping Hermione's head back and forth and up and down. "Did it hurt, Miss Granger, or was it just a surprise?"

Sniffling, she blinked back the tears. _I will not cry!_ Lifting her eyebrows, she tried to silently ask the matron to repeat her question.

Madam Pomfrey had been a Healer a long time. "Are you in pain?"

 _No_.

"Good. All right, then. I think we can just shrink these. Boys? If you'll excuse us?"

"We'll wait right here, Hermione," Fred said, letting go of her hand. It was only then that she noticed both boys were still holding on to her. She blushed. "C'mon, George."

Having use of her hands again, Hermione surreptitiously wiped her cheeks whilst pretending to move her hair out of her eyes as she followed Madam Pomfrey to a curtained-off bed.

"Have a seat there, Miss Granger. I'm going to use the Shrinking Charm on these, all right? Let me get a mirror, first, so you can tell me when to stop." She smiled ruefully. "I try, but I can't memorize hundreds of smiles on changing adolescents."

Behind the white drape of fabric that surrounded the cot, Hermione finally had a moment alone to process. Called out as a top duelist in her House? Her? That had been both gratifying and terrifying. What would be expected of her? All the guest students had seen her so embarrassed, after such an honoring, and she didn't know how she'd show her face in front of them again. Except, of course, she would. She always had. Working past public humiliation was how she had found her feet in Slytherin, after all.

And then there was Malfoy and the Minions. Sounded like a name of stupid rock band. She wanted revenge for her humiliation, but he was from an Ancient and Noble House. One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight of Britain's Wizarding World. Revenge would not be an option. She'd simply have to out-perform him.

He was only in fourth year. She could manage that.

Finally, George and Fred. She could hear them still in the Infirmary, talking indistinctly. As George had made sure to point out, they had come to her. Calling her name in front of the entire school as they hurried to her side. They'd pushed their way through imposing, caped Durmstrangers, faced down Stasia and her wand, and even talked to Professor Snape.

For her.

 _"Her friends, we swear on our magic,"_ Fred had said, loud and clear in front of everyone.

For her.

The knowledge of that warmed her, making her feel as if bubbles of hot chocolate or something were filling her up and making her smile despite the beaver teeth. Despite her mortification. Despite it all. They'd braved displeasure from everyone, really. _For her_.

"Well, Miss Granger, I found my mirror. Here you go. Sorry it took so long; I needed to find one that didn't talk back." The Healer chuckled. "I'm sure you didn't need that kind of aggravation."

"Hahnk ooh."

"You're welcome. Now, hold quite still, Miss Granger." She pointed her wand at Hermione's front teeth while bracing her chin with the other hand. " _Reducio_ ," she murmured, eyes narrowed in focus.

Watching in the borrowed hand mirror, Hermione saw the absurdly long beaver teeth shrink, growing shorter and less prominent. An idea flared in her mind and she went with it. The teeth shrank, reaching their former proportions, but she said nothing until they were even smaller, more the size of her ideal teeth for her ideal smile. Then, she held up one hand and Madam Pomfrey smiled in satisfaction.

"Ah, very nice, Miss Granger. You can't even tell you were hexed. Let me check the rest of them to make sure all is back the way it should be."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I appreciate it." Opening her mouth, she moved her head this way and that until the matron was satisfied that all was indeed as it _should_ be.

Hermione herself was satisfied and beyond. She grinned at her reflection in the mirror. "Perfect," she whispered with a quiet sigh. Her smile was straight and fit her mouth as if she were an advertisement for her parents' new orthodontics practice.

 _They're not going to like it. What am I going to tell them? Oops, magic?_

"Now, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said, interrupting her private musing. "As Professor Snape is likely to be up later, I recommend you stay here until he can see you and escort you back to Slytherin."

Hermione nodded, but then her stomach rumbled and she frowned. "I didn't get much time with my dinner before, er, all this."

"Well, I imagine your friends could be persuaded to be of help. Fred and George Weasley?" the matron called, pulling the curtains aside.

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." The boys strode quickly across the floor, both of them studying Hermione's face intently. She smiled at them and they blinked in tandem.

Fred grinned back at her. "Well, then. Perfect smile? Nice work, Madam Pomfrey."

"Imagine my relief at your approval, Mr. Weasley." Pomfrey shook her head. "Miss Granger missed dinner."

"So did we!" George declared, hand on his stomach. "Fred?"

"Got it, Forge. You stay here." He nodded at the matron. "Would you like something?"

Pomfrey appeared flustered to have been asked. "Well, yes, actually. Biscuits for my tea later would be lovely."

"And for you, Mademoiselle Granger?" Fred asked, holding his arm out as if he were a snobbish waiter in a Muggle restaurant.

"Just what was on the menu would be fine. Thank you."

He clicked his heels together and gave her a wink, which somehow did not surprise her. "On it."

* * *

It was different, being a _welcome_ guest in the Hospital Wing. George fidgeted, torn between sitting on the floor at Hermione's feet, sitting on the hard-backed chair next to the bed, or sitting next to her. On the bed. He might hold her hand again, maybe.

Taking a deep breath, he detected nothing out of the ordinary in the air. The scent of the pain potions was always about, as was a hint of lemon, which he associated with Madam Pomfrey and her desire for things to be clean at all times. He decided to start with sitting in the chair. Hermione hadn't caught Fred's joke about being a two-on-one kind of girl; she was a year below them in school, and he didn't want to frighten the witch, after all.

"Did you get anything to eat at all?" he asked her, surprised that half an hour hadn't passed since his twin had jogged off to get them some dinner. "I saw that your House's _guests_ were keeping you busy."

She met his gaze with a bit of a shy smile, which rather baffled him. Still, who could understand girls, anyway? Maybe Bill or Charlie, but not him. "I was very curious about their school and they were curious about ours."

"Still, I thought they were from Bulgaria, like Viktor Krum." She'd been sitting right next to the Quidditch star, which had had half his table excited. Even _Ron_ had been envious of Granger for a few moments.

"Oh, well they're from different countries, actually."

"And they all speak English?"

"Well, no. But we all speak French, to some degree, so that made communicating easier."

He blinked. "You speak French?"

She lifted a brow. "You sound surprised, George. Of course I do. My family vacations there for weeks every summer."

He recollected their correspondence months ago and nodded. "Right. Forgot, sorry." An image came to mind and—though he still didn't want to push, he did enjoy teasing—he went with it. "So, France in the summers? Go to any of the famous French beaches?" He wiggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner so she would understand he was teasing her on purpose. She was a Slytherin, but she _had_ proven to have a sense of humor over the years.

Her lips quirked and he saw that elusive dimple that had intrigued him before. "Of course we go to the beaches," she told him, her voice coolly at odds with the hint of mischief in her eyes. That indicator of playfulness set butterflies loose in his middle, but he didn't give himself away. "All _sorts_ of beaches," she added.

He swallowed. "Oh, really? You sent a picture of yourself on that one, but all we saw was a foot. I don't suppose you have any others? You did promise to share some, if I remember your letter."

She blushed, which made him want to laugh and run his fingers through her hair and all manner of things. He sat on his hands, though, and settled on a light chuckle as she said, "You're right. We've had one or two things happen, though, haven't we?"

"Too right. So, will you show us? Since we're friends and all?"

"I said I would."

He grinned. "Looking forward to it!"

She met his eye and blushed again and he let himself laugh out loud, that time. She waved her hand at him. "Hush. So. Tell me about the latest in Portable Magic!"

"Well, we're thinking of the shield, right?"

"Right." She leaned toward him, propping herself up on one arm on the mattress.

It was difficult, but he made himself focus on the expression on her face, the improved smile (not that he'd say anything about _that_ ), and the way she could think through anything faster than any witch he knew. "How hard would it be to make a _series_ of things with shields?"

Her eyes popped wide. "Like, for the Aurors and such? So they wouldn't have to be distracted from fighting? Maybe cloaks to protect their backs, or hats to protect their faces from, from curses like the one Malfoy cast at me? That would be a load of relief, you know, to be able to go into a dangerous situation already shielded. Maybe they could layer one shield on the other, if they're wearing more than one of the items, right?" She lowered her voice and leaned even closer to him, so that he could feel the tips of her fingers brushing his robes. "You could make a fortune if the Ministry would buy them. We could test them in duels, make records of what works and so on."

His mind was racing almost as fast as his heart as he listened to her. He'd said one thing and she had already created a business plan, a publicity plan, and even some research ideas. "I, wow, I—" He blew out a breath.

She drew back from him, her Slytherin mask fully in place once more. "You don't have to like it. They were just ideas. I know this is your, your thing and you just need my brain. Think tank and all that. It's fine."

At this, he reached for her hand and took it firmly in his own. "No, silly witch. You're just, just blinding, really. I need a self-writing quill just to keep up with you. Perfect ideas. Can we write them down?"

"Of course. As soon as I get back to my room."

"Write what down? And hey," Fred said, eyeing their hands with a lifted brow, "did I miss something?"

"Oh, just some new Portable Magic ideas. And promises of pictures from that beach in France," George said, his tone casual as he leaned back in the hard chair.

His reward for his attitude was to watch Fred almost drop the food he was balancing. "What?"

As they caught each other up, Hermione shifted so that they could all three sit on her hospital bed and have a picnic of sorts. Madam Pomfrey joined them as well—though she sat in the chair—asking if there were any further concerns in the Great Hall that might require her attention.

"No," Fred assured her while cutting some cold roast into bite-sized squares. "But, I did hear that Dumbledore announced something more about the Tournament." He met George's eyes with an air of expectation.

George didn't disappoint. "So? What did he say?"

"There will be a magical goblet in the Entrance Hall tomorrow morning. Anyone who wants to try for entry into the Tournament—only one will be chosen from each school, remember—can enter their name during the day. The goblet will choose the Champions tomorrow night at the Halloween Feast."

Actually bouncing on the bed so that the mattress squeaked, George shouted, "Excellent!" until the word echoed about the otherwise empty infirmary.

Madam Pomfrey eyed them askance. "This is only asking for trouble, boys. The Tournament hasn't been held in ages because it's so dangerous."

Acknowledging that with a sigh, Fred nodded. "That's what he said. So. There's been an age limit established, Forge. Seventeen."

The disappointment was crushing. "Damn."

"Yeah."

Hermione, who had been listening and eating without comment, wiped her mouth with her napkin. "I think that's quite sensible. The students from Durmstrang, like Stasia and Krum, are older and obviously quite accomplished. It'd be terrible to have some poor third or fourth year compete against them. Vastly unfair."

Fred cocked his head at her. "What, so you wouldn't want to compete?"

"Merlin, no." She shook her head firmly enough that her hair resettled about her shoulders and upper arms. "What benefit would there be?"

"Well, there's a purse for the winner. A thousand Galleons, I hear." Fred pushed his food about on his plate, lips pursed as he thought. "That'd be a big help for our plans, Forge."

"But can we enter the Tournament?"

Hermione just shook her head.

* * *

"Really, guys? She's a snake! She looked like a beaver there, for a bit, but yeah." Candle-shadow deepened the colors of the Gryffindor Sixth Year Boys Dormitory. It was not as big a room as some, but there were only the three of them in it.

"Shut it, you," Fred said, gripping his wand but not quite pointing it at their dorm mate. "She was attacked. Publicly. And did you see that not _one_ of the snakes tried to help her? Only the Durmstangers. So she might be in their House, but she's _not_ one of them."

Lee Jordan eyed the wand and pressed his lips together. "Fair enough. But. Come on. I mean, I know you've been watching Granger for years, but really? There're so many great girls right here in Gryffindor. Angelina, Alicia . . ."

"And a flock of _other_ birds with names that start with A." George waved off the suggestions with an impatient motion. "No, Lee. And that's not even all of it, you know? She's the smartest in her year. We need her brains, Fred and I. You've heard us. We argue and then fight forever or agree too soon, yeah? We need someone who'll balance that."

Lee's dreadlocks shifted about his head as he climbed on his bed. "Yeah, right enough. But Granger? Really?" Then, he leaned back against his plurality of pillows. "So, how're you going to manage her, eh? Cast lots? Do a charm? Find some spell to see which one of you she's supposed to be with or what? Trade off?" He laughed and folded his hands behind his head. "Maybe you could ask Trelawney!"

Fred rolled his eyes. "If we decide we need help, we'll ask you."

"G'night, Lee."

"Night, George. Night, Fred."

George waited 'til Lee was breathing deep before climbing on Fred's bed, shutting the curtain, and casting a quick _Muffliato_. He then moved to prop himself up against one of the posts at the foot of the bed. "So."

From the headboard, Fred waved at him to continue. "So?"

"The age limit. Do we try to fake it? There's an aging potion I read about that can make us older." George squinted, trying to remember which book it was in. "I just don't know if we'd have to stay older for the length of the Tournament or if we'd revert right away."

"And if we were older, how much older? And could we still compete?"

"Let's see how picky that limit is in the morning, yeah?"

"Yeah." Then, Fred smiled and George knew his twin wasn't even thinking about the goblet or age limits or anything. "So, Hermione?"

George didn't stop his own grin. She wasn't there to be frightened. "I guess we're friends now? In front of everyone?"

"Yeah, but I'll tell you, Forge, I was really scared for a minute. When all three stood up?" Fred leaned his head back and stared at the canopy over the bed. "And we were too far away to do anything, really. We could have hexed 'em, maybe, but there were a lot of people in the way. He could've hurt her."

"Yeah, but he didn't, did he? Not permanently."

"But she _was_ hurt," Fred insisted, clenching his fists and feeling impotent, now that the danger was all over and he didn't have to pretend to be okay with everything. "She's, she was all on her own there, you know? And she stared them down. And, and I was stuck to my seat and couldn't even breathe." He stared at his twin. "I know she's a right wicked duelist and all, but bloody hell, that wasn't even fair."

"Malfoy's an arse. You know it. Everyone knows it. Still. I know what you mean. Couldn't tell her, though. She can still kick our arses if we're dueling against her."

"Yeah. Should try two on one," Fred said, in a half-hearted attempt to push the remaining worry away.

George laughed softly. "Told you not to scare her."

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it." Fred could feel his body relaxing, just remembering a few rather warm dreams he'd had over the years. "I know I have."

"Well, yeah. Two on one, as you said. Like, the Library, yeah?"

With a sigh, Fred sank back into his pillows. "Yeah. Wonder if she'll show us those beach pictures from France."

"Wonder if she has tan lines," George mused with a lazy grin.

Fred caught himself blushing and was glad it was dim. "Well, I hadn't wondered before, but now I am." So much for being relaxed. At least a part of his body was really, really _not_ relaxed.

"Think we could write Bill and see if he still thinks inviting her to the Burrow would be all right?"

"Why don't we just ask Mum? She's met her."

George scooted to the edge of the bed but didn't part the curtains yet. "Ron will get all in a huff. Ginny doesn't even look at her. I don't want her upset, Gred."

"She'd be our guest. It'd be polite and Mum wouldn't let them be rude to a guest."

"We could invite her to Mum's New Year's Eve party. Then she won't feel singled out—except by us. I don't want to scare the girl."

Fred thumped the bed with one hand. "You keep saying that. She's hella brave, George. Stood up to Malfoy. Aced her O.W.L. a full year early. Hell, she stood up to you and me on the train before she was even Sorted. Girl's got big brass ones."

The image made both of them laugh until the tears came. Fred reflected that at least his brief, pleasantly painful _problem_ had gone away. Wiping at his eyes, he took a steadying breath. "All right. We do that. We find that book, too, about identical twins and so on, so she can read it. The girl loves her reference books. Or we can write a paper and slide it in the Herbology notes."

"Cor! Excellent plan!"

"Right, then. So. Up early to brew?"

Opening the curtain, George canceled the muffling charm. "Two aging potions before dawn!"

* * *

 _A/N: To try to mimic Hermione's beaver-tooth-speaking, I said her lines with two fingers barricading my mouth. I looked and sounded very odd. All in the name of entertainment, yeah? See you tomorrow!_


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Goblet of Fire

**A/N: A word about Malfoy...** _My thoughts on him are these: Hermione sees him as a year beneath her and untouchable due to his blood status. The best revenge, then, is to do better than he can on every possible level and to ignore him otherwise. For her, this is about self-preservation as well as ambition, both of which will be served thereby. So, there isn't a big Get Him Back scene...for Hermione, it's not important and for the twins, he's an annoying git two years below them. We're not done with Malfoy yet, though._

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen**

 ** _Hogwarts, 31 October 1994_**

"Granger!" Viktor Krum and Stasia Ivanova met Hermione at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall in the morning. They were dressed in thick jumpers, likely suitable to their colder climate at Durmstrang, and had expressions of concern etched on their faces.

She smiled at them both, touched that they had thought to come early to breakfast with the apparent reason of checking on her wellbeing. "Good morning, Krum. Good morning, Ivanova," she said in English. "And please, call me Hermione. I have the feeling we will be together a lot this year."

Stasia examined her smile carefully and nodded. "Hehr-my-oah-nih. I am Stay-zee-ah."

"And I am Veek-tohr, Her-mo-nin,nee?"

Indicating that they should all be seated, Hermione couldn't help but note how Viktor Krum sat to her immediate left, that morning, while Stasia sat directly opposite. "Thank you both. Viktor," she said, meeting his eye and offering him a firm but friendly look. "It's _Her_. Like belonging to her," she said with a wave of her hand toward Stasia. "Her _my_ , like it's mine." She pressed her palm to her own chest. "Her. My. _Oh_." That last she said with an expression of exaggerated surprise that made both the Durmstrangers laugh lightly. "And then _knee_." She made so bold as to tap Viktor Krum on his knee. "Her. My. Oh. Knee."

He trapped her hand briefly under the table. "Knee. Her-my-oh-knee. Thank you. You are good teacher," he acknowledged, still speaking in English.

She tried and failed to suppress her blush, turning more fully to the table to busy herself with pouring herself a cup of tea. She never had learned to acquire a taste for pumpkin juice. "I didn't get to thank you last night for, for standing up for me." She looked first to Stasia and then to Viktor. "I appreciated it."

"No von else vas," Viktor Krum said, his voice deep and his scowl fierce as he contemplated the bacon he was putting on his plate.

Stasia also poured herself some tea. "No, Viktor. The boys did. The ones that took her to the Healer. With the fiery hair."

"True. Who are they, these vriends?" Viktor asked, having moved on to serving himself scrambled eggs. Lots of them.

Hermione herself was having porridge, upon which she put salt and brown sugar. "Friends, as they said. Fred and George Weasley. They're Gryffindors."

"They took you to Healer?" Viktor asked with a lifted brow.

"They did. Got me all fixed up."

"We were trying to wait for you, but Karkaroff required our presence on the ship," Stasia said. "And Snape told us today would be better."

"Thank you, both of you. Very kind of you. Today is a much better day. Fred mentioned a goblet?"

" _Da_!" Viktor raised his fork in triumph. "After breakfast, ve vill go."

"I am too young," Hermione said with feigned regret. "Only in fifth year, you see."

"We are in final year," Stasia said. "We will go. You will come with?"

" _Da_ ," Hermione said, making Viktor choke on his eggs.

The others from their school joined them shortly, as did all the rest of Salazar's House—especially those interested in the Goblet of Fire, as it had come to be called. The name took on mythic proportions over breakfast, as some brave wag had peeked into the Entrance Hall and come back with a description that filtered through all the Houses.

Hermione put her bets on the twins having been so bold, but she supposed it could have been anyone.

Conversation reverted to French as more Durmstrang students started to eat. They had more questions about Hogwarts and Scotland, as well as her own studies. She had a feeling, though, that the questions were merely polite interest. It was clear to her that no one was focused on the conversation. All had an ear out for one announcement.

At length, it came.

"Good morning, students. And a special good morning to our guests," the Headmaster said, his voice sounding authoritative but still grandfatherly. Hermione wondered how long he had had to practice that. "The Goblet of Fire is in the Entrance Hall. I know how many of you are eager to find ways to enter—brave souls, every one of you—but I have established an age line around the goblet itself to prevent those who are underaged from entering." He seemed to eye the Gryffindor table as he spoke his next sentence. "Do not, I beg of you, test this." Lifting his hands, he said, "From now until this evening, all those who are of age are welcome to enter. But remember," he added with a more quiet, severe tone, "if you are chosen to compete as your school's Champion, there will be _no_ turning back. You will be bound legally and magically to compete. So think on it. It will be no small endeavor you face, this year."

Five students from Beauxbaton, four from Hufflepuff, ten from Gryffindor, three from Slytherin, and two from Ravenclaw rose to their feet slowly, but with a sturdy sort of determination.

They all had to follow the entire Durmstrang contingent, who were on their feet before Dumbledore took his first breath after his speech. Instinctively, Hermione looked to her Head of House, who was still at the Head Table as Karkaroff stalked from the dais toward the Entrance Hall.

Which was where Hermione got her first glimpse of the Goblet of Fire.

It was enormous, for starters. An entire Quidditch team could probably get drunk if the Goblet were filled with wine. And, as Dumbledore pointed at it with his wand, it erupted into a cold white flame from what appeared to be a crystalline vessel—the substance of which hadn't been evident before. "Magic," she whispered.

Viktor, who stood next to her, settled his hand on her shoulder, which startled her enough to jump a bit. He leaned down and whispered near her ear. "Magic is point, yes?"

" _Da_ ," she said again. He smiled, but there was a light in his eye that was all for the Goblet of Fire. "You're entering, right?"

" _Da_. It is expected."

"I really have to research this tournament," she reminded herself out loud.

* * *

"There she is," George said, peeking into the Library. It was not too busy, seeing as how Dumbledore canceled classes for the day due to the Goblet business.

Fred tugged his arm. "Sure about asking her?"

"We're her friends, and this won't scare her, I'm pretty sure."

"She won't like it, though."

George nodded. "Still. Here we go." They nodded at those they knew as they crossed the Library to find Hermione Granger at a small table, a huge volume in front of her. _Sporting Tragedies Through the Centuries_ , they could see along the top of the book's pages when they reached her.

"Granger! No classes today."

George took a chair and tried to look studious. "But here you are, hard at work."

"Got a minute?"

"We could use your _think tank_." George tried a smile to see if he could provoke one from her.

No luck. "What?" She studied them and Fred didn't know how they gave themselves away as her neutral expression gave way to irritated disappointment. "No. Tell me you're not," she demanded in a harsh whisper.

Fred met George's gaze and they nodded to each other. Hermione took a breath, but Fred held up a hand. "Look, we just want to try."

"Don't really think the Goblet—"

"Would pick one of _us_ , do you?"

She tapped the book she was reading before saying, her voice quiet but pleading, "This Tournament is dangerous, Fred. George, it's deadly. It's not a joke or even a _game_. Not really."

George touched her hand lightly with his. "Aw, you're worried about us?"

"Of course, silly wizard. Ridiculous. It's dangerous."

"Don't you think we can handle it?"

"Not bad at nonverbals, you know." George wiggled his brow, tapped his wand, and her quill levitated to spin in the air for a moment before sliding back to her parchment.

"I know, but—"

"We're brave and daring, as well," Fred added, enjoying the worry and exasperation that were flaring in her eyes, no matter how controlled she kept her features.

"We are! We test all our pranks."

Fred nodded. "On ourselves first, you know. That's dangerous as well."

George cocked his head. "Remember that time with the telescope?"

"Oi! Yeah." Fred shook his head. "Wasn't pretty, Granger."

She drew in a long breath and eyed them both. As usually happened when she focused on him so intently, George felt himself respond to her. It was amusing and embarrassing all in one. Another good reason to _always_ wear his school robes around her. She huffed a breath out her nose. "What did you want me to do?"

Appreciation and a new sort of feeling—softer, but still quite strong—bloomed in Fred's chest. He leaned forward toward her and cast a quick _Muffliato_ about them, gratified when she smiled a little. "Now, we've got a potion we can try. We were up early, brewing it."

"But if it doesn't work, do you have any ideas? What about Disillusioning ourselves?"

Hermione shook her head. "Dumbledore is a powerful wizard. Do you really think one of his protections would be overcome by something so simple? And you did make an antidote for your potion, didn't you?"

"Of course. But what if it doesn't work?"

"See? Brave and daring," George insisted, being both brave and daring enough to steal her quill and tap her on the nose with the feather.

"Got some extra parchment?" Fred asked.

Shaking her head, she still slid a piece to them. They tore it in half and took turns writing their names on them. "Keep them for us?" George asked.

"Not on your life. I do not support this."

Not truly expecting anything else from her—she had standards and a clear idea of what was due her, as she'd expressed to them over the years—the twins nodded and rose in unison. "Meet us down there, then?" Fred asked.

She leaned back in her chair. "All right."

"We have to decant the potion, so we'll be there in a bit." George folded up his parchment. "Thank you for listening."

"And the warnings."

"And hey, look up a reverse-aging spell for us?" With a smile, George pushed his seat in and led the way out of the Library.

* * *

"Hehr-my-oh-knee." Viktor Krum was in the Entrance Hall, where Hogwarts had provided stadium seating around the glowing Goblet of Fire.

"Did you enter, Viktor? Already?" Concern for him pressed down on her shoulders as she made her way to sit next to him on a second-row bench. The hall was mostly occupied by Hogwarts students, but there was a Beauxbatons contingent. Viktor was sitting next to another student from Bulgaria, Marko Sechev, who was tall, lean, with spiky black hair and a dark complexion. His mother was in the Bulgarian version of the Wizengamot. Hermione greeted him in French, as his English was even more limited than Viktor's.

"I also entered," Marko informed her with a slanted smile. "We, all of us, know we cannot compete with our Quidditch star, but we have entered anyway."

Viktor made a dismissive gesture, and also spoke in French. "You are all eligible."

"We just don't have people following us and asking for a moment of our time!"

Hermione pressed her hand briefly on Viktor's forearm. He was wearing a gray jumper with trousers and boots that morning, and he appeared to be comfortable. "So you have entered?" she asked again for confirmation.

"I haff."

"Well, if you are chosen," she said, speaking in English as he had done, "I hope you know that I will support you."

At this, Viktor met her eyes with a smile in his own. "Against your own Hogwarts Champion?"

She answered his smile. "Unless that Champion is a Slytherin, yes."

The young man leaned over to make their conversation more private. Marko, she saw, was watching a pair from Beauxbatons approach the Goblet of Fire. Viktor tapped her forearm much as she had pressed his, before. "Your school. It is not helpful for you?"

She sat as straight as she could and did not meet his eyes. "Hogwarts is a fine school. I've learned a great deal. And as the only Muggle-born in over a century sorted into my House, I have learned that a good education is worth my while."

"That is not vhat I vanted to know."

She shrugged. "I'm alive, yes?" Darting a glance to meet his, she asked, "You know how it is to be different, right? It is much the same, I'm sure, but I don't have people seeking my autograph." He looked as if he'd argue, but she had had enough of this line of talk. So, she turned lightly toward him and took a quick breath. "Tell me about your family."

Appearing surprised, he still accepted her change of topic. "It vill be divvy-, hard. In English."

"Well, I am interested in learning other languages, too," she said with a smile, relieved that they were not talking about her pariah status.

He quirked a small smile in answer. " _Da_. Then. My mother, my _maika_ , is involved vith many things to help others." He paused. " _Maika_ is _mother_ in my tongue."

She repeated the word and clarified. "So, she works for many organizations? Like charity work and so on? To help people?"

" _Da_! Exactly so."

"Ah! That sounds very good." Opening her mouth to ask more, she was interrupted.

"Granger!"

"Hermione!"

Marko snorted loudly. "Your vriends, yes?"

" _Da_ ," she said with a sigh, shaking her head. A group of Gryffindors rose to their feet when the Weasley twins entered, but they were now stalled mid-applause as the duo made a shortest-course line straight for her. "So, you're going to try anyway?" she asked Fred.

"Absolutely." He stared at her, as if trying to communicate something else. Then, she felt Viktor shift next to her and remembered her manners. "Of course. Sorry. Viktor, Marko, these are my friends Fred and George Weasley of Gryffindor," she said, indicating each boy in turn. "George and Fred, this is Marko Sechev and this is Viktor Krum of Durmstrang. Both are from Bulgaria."

The young men all shook hands as men tend to do everywhere and she waited while they each took turns to make sure no one was left out. Then, she checked to see if that's what Fred wanted by the simple expedient of cocking one brow at him. He grinned.

"Thank you, Hermione. And now, our grand attempt!" They turned to face the Goblet of Fire and took phials from their robes. Shaking them, they then said, "Bottoms up!" before making a large production of twining their arms and downing whatever noxious potion they'd concocted. All she could see was that the potion was a violet color.

Their Housemates, of course, thought their performance was worthy of cheers. She shook her head. "Honestly."

"Hehr-my-oh-nee?" Viktor sat up straight with a slight frown. "Are they trying to cheat the line?" he asked in French.

Marko's eyes widened. "Look!"

Elbows linked, the twins leapt over Dumbledore's preventive age line and nothing happened. Hermione gasped and felt her heart lurch suddenly in her chest. Were they really going to make this work? The cheers started to rise, echoing powerfully from the walls.

"Can they do this?" Viktor asked right next to her ear. "Are they that good?"

"They are very creative, but I—I don't think they can do this." At least, she hoped not. She'd be terrified if they actually were to enter the Triwizard Tournament. "Dumbledore is very powerful."

"Oh, ho!" George called, tossing his name into the silvery flame of the Goblet.

Their aging potion seemed to work—after a fashion. With an inarticulate squawk, the twins started touching themselves and Fred didn't even get his name into the Goblet before the Weasley twins began to age. Rapidly.

And _then_ , the Goblet denied them with a sudden flare. In a powerful surge of magic, the twins were flung out of the delineated circle to land on unyielding stone. Hermione, who had been watching carefully, cast a cushioning charm that she hoped they would land on.

Fred did, George didn't. Hermione winced.

"I guess it did not vork," Marko remarked with a nod.

"No." Viktor then said something in their native language that she didn't ask them to interpret. It would likely not reflect well on her friends and she decided it wouldn't be prudent to know if she couldn't tell them. Nor would she wish to wince on their behalf.

"I should go make sure they have an antidote," she told the Bulgarians.

"See you at the next meal?"

"Lunch? Of course."

"I vill, how you say, save you a chair."

With a grin, she thanked him.

The Gryffindors were surrounding their aged, pranking heroes as Hermione reached the group. "Viper alarm!" one wishful wit called out, blocking her access to the twins.

She crossed her arms and faced the phalanx of red and gold ties, making sure her wand was visible, though not in a threatening manner. "They are my friends. Let me get to them or I'll hex you."

The youngest Weasley brother stuck his chest out like a bragging bird. "You know, Granger, we Weasleys have never been friends with Snakes. I don't want to start now."

With a cool purse of her lips she decided to smile at him. A very Slytherin smile, such as Professor Snape made before he struck. "That's fine, Ronald. I don't wish to be friends with _you_ , either."

"Oi!"

"Hey!" Potter stepped forward, hands upraised. "Ron. Come on. They're friends. Give over. Granger, will they be all right?"

"What? Did you make them do this?" Weasley pushed past his friend and almost went chest-to-chest with Hermione.

At that juncture, she did call up her shield, using her wand in small movements but not saying, " _Protego_ " out loud. The force of the shield pushed Weasley back a bit, but other lions decided that was their cue to call her out and intimidate her.

"Enough!" Viktor Krum shouted from the bench where he was now standing. "Miss Granger vants to see Veasle brodares. You should let her. They are vriends."

Several remarks leapt to Hermione's lips, but she quelled them. Getting defensive or irritated with Viktor—in public, no less—would not be a good idea. She wanted to cultivate relationships with the Durmstrang students. They were from a variety of European countries and might have different attitudes about Muggle-borns. Professor Snape had encouraged her to keep her mind open about what to do after she finished her education, and living abroad might be a viable option. Connections would be important.

So, she nodded. "Thank you, Viktor." She realized what a sacrifice this had been for him when he was immediately approached by a horde of Quidditch-mad Gryffindors. After offering him an apologetic look, she turned her back on him and knelt next to the twins.

They were sitting, facing each other with alternating expressions of elation and desolation. Both of them now had white hair that had grown to their shoulders. Their faces were half-covered by snowy beards and equally fair eyebrows. She sighed. "Well. You aged. So, well done?" Sarcasm _was_ the official language of House Slytherin.

"Hermione, cut a man some slack, will you?"

The voice sounded like Fred's. She made a show of looking around the pair. "Do you still have your antidote?"

"Did the Goblet take either of our names?" That, she was pretty sure, was George. He looked wistfully past her to the glowing Goblet before scratching at the thick beard he now possessed. "It'd be rubbish if we didn't succeed at anything."

"Oh, I don't know," she murmured, rising to her feet and looking down at them. "You did age yourself to a degree. So that's something for future notice, yeah? You could sell this for someone wanting to play their own grandparents or Father Christmas for a costume party."

She was privately gratified to see two pairs of unchanged, tea-brown eyes gaze at her with wide appreciation. "Granger!"

"Brilliant, you are."

"Smashingly so."

"Bringing us victory from—"

"The depths of defeat!"

They pushed themselves to their feet and each wrapped an arm about her for a moment. This made her rather uncomfortable because they were in no way private at the moment, but she also wanted to bury her face against each firm chest and smile to herself.

She didn't. Having a crush on twins was really awkward. One just didn't date two boys, did one? No. And she couldn't possibly choose one and not the other so . . . no. Besides, they might have once seen her like that, once, a long time ago, but they didn't act on it and neither would she. They would be friends. Maybe business associates someday. That would have to suffice.

Before things got too awkward, they pulled away a bit and stared at each other. "You know, Fred," George remarked sounding thoughtful as he peered closely at his twin. "I wonder if we really will look this much alike when we have white hair."

"What if I don't have a beard?"

"Mum would be able to tell us apart, wouldn't she?"

Hermione was startled into a chuckle. "What? Can't she, now?"

"Not always," Fred confided with a white-bearded grin.

"We try to keep her on her toes, you see."

"We're rather fond of confusing people."

"I've noticed."

Fred and George presented her with identical smiles. "We've noticed you noticing, too. Don't think we haven't."

With heat rising to her cheeks, she sniffed and changed the subject. "So? Where's the antidote? I want to make sure it works."

Around them, there was a sound of disappointed students, but the sound was quickly replaced by a variety of "Thank you!" called out by boyish and girlish voices. Turning, Hermione caught a quick nod of acknowledgment from Viktor and Marko before they hurried from the Entrance Hall. The students left behind continued to gossip loudly as they found their places again on the benches.

"Why are so many people just, just sitting here?" she wondered aloud.

One white-haired twin shook his head. "Dunno. But it makes a break, doesn't it?"

"Ready, Forge?" Fred whipped out another phial, one with an orange-hued potion in it.

"Ready, Gred."

"But wait. George? Before we do this?"

"I know. Good to see how spectacular we'll look when we're as old as Dumbledore!"

Hermione shook her head tolerantly. The twins were irrepressible and, truly, she wouldn't want them any other way.

"Bottoms up!"

* * *

 _A/N: Once upon a time, this was about where I planned on starting this whole fic. True story. The first version began when the twins asked the Pariah of Slytherin for help in defeating the Age Line..._


	21. Chapter Twenty: Dueling Krum

_**A/N:** Thank you so much for your support of this fic. I'm enjoying your comments on Viktor and the twins and even my revised approach to this whole story. :) I appreciate being able to communicate personally with everyone who's leaving reviews (signed!), too. A deep bow today to **Lady Ridger,** who caught review #700. Thank you!_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty**

 ** _Hogwarts, 31 October 1994_**

Hermione took herself to the Library to revise for her independent study class, History of Magic, N.E.W.T. level. She thought that, if she worked it right, she might even be able to take that this year, but if not, next year for sure. She also wondered what other N.E.W.T. levels she could achieve by the sheer expedient of studying diligently for them. She wouldn't rush her Defense exam—that one would come next year, likely. But History of Magic was just written, no practical. Ancient Runes was written for the O.W.L. level, but she wondered if there would be a practical for the upper level exams. She'd have to check. Arithmancy would likely be very much the same.

If she could take any of these exams before her seventh year, then she could spend that final year looking for employment as well as revising for exams, and not overextend herself. It would be something to look forward to, at any rate.

While she was revising, Harper showed up. He was two years below her, and loved Quidditch to excess. She had little use for him, but when he made his rough way into the Library, calling her name out loud as if he hadn't a clue how one should behave in such a place, she shushed him. "C'mere," she said in a whisper. "What is it?"

He stayed at arm's length from her, extending a folded bit of parchment. "This is from Professor Snape. He says you're to report to his office immediately." His tone superior, he half-turned from her. "I'm not an owl, so I'll not be taking a message back for you, Mudblood."

As he had again spoken far too loudly for the place, Hermoine couldn't help glancing at Madam Pince, who was glaring with disapproval at Harper's retreating back. Well, better him than herself, Hermione supposed as she opened the note from her Head of House.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _Headmaster Karkaroff still wishes you to duel one of his students this morning. You are requested to be in my office by 9 o'clock._

 _S. Snape_

"Well, that leaves me precisely no time at all," she muttered very much under her breath. Making quick work of her parchment, quills, and ink, she got her school work sorted and the books stacked on the edge of the table. She approaching Madam Pince apologetically. "Professor Snape requires me in his office in less than ten minutes, Madam Pince. I'm sorry. I have to leave the books for right now. But I can return them to their shelves later, if you'd like."

The Librarian stared down her thin nose. "Go on. One cannot keep a professor waiting."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Her strides would never be long, but she did her best to hurry down the stairs, which were being vastly uncooperative this morning. Finally, she made it to the Great Hall, after which she half-jogged to the Dungeon. Arriving at her Head's office rather out of breath, she paused at the door and drew as much oxygen into her lungs as possible, pushing it all out forcefully before repeating twice more. This got her back to a non-breathless state and she was able to knock on the door with one minute to spare.

"Enter."

Reminding herself that she had been singled out as a top duelist of her House, and that she could count some of the Durmstrangers as possible friends despite their possibly antipathetic Headmaster, Hermione opened the heavy door with a neutral expression of respect arranged on her face. "Professor Snape, you sent for me?"

The Potions Master was standing behind his desk in a black frock coat. "Yes, Miss Granger. You remember Headmaster Karkaroff of Durmstrang."

It was emphatically not a question, so Hermione took her cue from the unhurried inflection of her Head of House's voice. "Of course. Good morning, Professor Karkaroff. I have had the honor of spending time with some of your students and find them to be quite amicable."

The bearded Eastern European eyed her up and down as if she were a dog or pony he was considering riding. She mustered all the self-control she had learnt in her years at Hogwarts and stood with respectful ease.

"What year are you, here at school?" he asked. His accent wasn't as thick as Viktor's, but she could hear it.

"I am in my fifth year here, sir."

He appeared to be insulted; she was sure it was a ploy. "So young! Your House makes a fool of me and mine, Snape. She cannot possibly be your best." Still, he had not turned his back on her, which made her think he was not as dismissive as he wished to appear.

Professor Snape beckoned her to draw closer, so she did, keeping more than an arm's length from Karkaroff as she maneuvered nearer to Professor Snape's desk. "Miss Granger," her professor said, "is taking Advanced Defense with our sixth years, at present. She passed her O.W.L. with an O last year. From her earliest time with us, she has striven to excel in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Karkaroff hissed something under his breath; Hermione thought it might have been in Russian or perhaps Bulgarian. She really needed to learn more languages. "Dark Arts. Magic is magic, Severus, as you know. You are so limited here with Dumbledore. You should come to us." Still, Karkaroff kept half his attention on Hermione, so she made sure to do likewise to him. "So, you can duel?"

"I have dueled, sir. I am willing to face your student of choice this morning, as we have no classes today." She turned her gaze to Professor Snape. "I'd like to be able to take my things back to my room, though, and prepare first."

"One cannot always need to be ready, Miss Granger," Karkaroff said, with a sneer. "Last night, you were not ready."

The humiliation from Malfoy's attack would take time to work itself out, she knew, but still, she kept her composure. "Last night, sir, it was three on one, as my friends pointed out. If it had only been two on one, my shields might have held longer. As it was, I hadn't thought to be prepared for battle when I was eating dinner." Then, she decided it would be politic to say, "I am thankful for the willingness of your students to support me last night."

Professor Snape looked at her as if she'd brought him a strange species of rat. Still, he waved her off. "Dismissed, Miss Granger. Meet us in the Great Hall at our table as soon as you've . . . prepared."

"Thank you, Professor." With another nod to Karkaroff, Hermione turned and moved as swiftly as she dared from the office, back to the common room, and up to her dorm.

Patrice Urquhart was just leaving and, as usual, looked right through Hermione. All Hermione could do was step out of the way as the beautiful redhead glided by as if her feet didn't even touch the floor. Then, Urquhart did something entirely unexpected.

"Mudblood. Viktor Krum was looking for you."

That the pure-blood witch had even tossed a direct remark to her over one shoulder was almost enough to make Hermione stumble. "Thank you," she replied softly.

"Do _not_ speak to me." The directive was followed by a nasty tripping jinx that sent Hermione sprawling on the stone floor.

"Bugger," she whispered, allowing herself to just lay there on the floor for a moment and do a quick check to make sure nothing was broken or sprained. No, aside from skinned hands, she seemed to be fine. "Well, then."

Soon enough, she got herself sorted. Hair back in a braid, wearing only her school uniform—sans robe—tights, and sturdy shoes, she nodded at her reflection in the washroom mirror after she'd seen to the scrapes on her hands. She found some leftover potion that Madam Pomfrey used to use on her. It was purple and would hurt, but then the pain would be over and she'd be better able to concentrate to duel. So, she cleaned the broken skin on her hands and scowled through the burning and smoking that resulted.

"Ridiculous that it is so dramatic," she declared to no one but herself.

Her heart was pounding as she hurried back downstairs. The common room was all but empty, the portraits ignoring her as they always did as she hurried through. _I can do this. It'll be against someone I had breakfast with, likely, and they're all nice people. All of them. They stood up for me last night and won't do anything too horrid to me today. What's the worst that can happen?_

 _Abject humiliation_ , she answered herself.

 _Well, that was last night. Today, I'm ready._

Professor Snape nodded to her, indicating she should approach him. So she did, walking with as much evident confidence as she could through a growing throng of people. Dumbledore was amongst the professors who were clustered between the head table and Slytherin's.

As was Viktor Krum, who met her with a warm light in his dark eyes. She hoped that she was presenting him with the same, because neither of them actually went so far as to smile in front of such an audience as their Headmasters.

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape began. "Headmaster Karkaroff has decided that you should represent the House of Slytherin in a duel against his most well-known student, Viktor Krum."

Viktor nodded formally at her before speaking to Karkaroff. "I haff spoken vith Miss Granger and she is two years younger. Is this fair?"

"If she is their best, it is fair."

A group of fiery-headed folk inserted their right to observe just then. "Oi, Granger!" Fred liked to make an entrance.

"We're on your side!"

Then, she heard: "She? Gets to duel Krum? Not bloody fair."

"You think you can do it, Ron?" That had to be the Weaselette. Sassy, with a thin, expressive voice.

Hermione didn't look at them, though. Her focus was on Viktor as a space was cleared for them. The nearest House tables were magically shifted, the spectators were urged back by McGonagall and the Head Boy and Girl, and Dumbledore was doing something about them to provide a spell warding, to keep everyone safe.

That was worrisome.

"How formal are we making this?" she asked the Bulgarian, _sotto voce_ , while they studied the space they were being given. It wasn't much, even with the arrangements.

"How often you haff dueled like this?"

She felt her skin heat. "Only in class, formally, and for a club a few times. Never with so many people watching."

He faced her in the center of the warded space. She cast a wandless _Muffliato_ about them, just in case.

"Vhat is that?"

"A muffling spell. It will keep our words indistinct. Professor Snape taught it to me years ago."

"Impressive, Hehr-my-oh-nee. So. I suggest a progressive duel. This is formal. No Unforgiven spells, as you call them here." His smile was only in his eyes, but that was enough. "Try not to hurt me?"

She covered her snort with a hand over her face and canceled the _Muffliato_. "No promises," she said, smiling with her eyes as well.

"If you're _quite_ finished?" Professor Snape met her gaze with his own blank one. "The duel is to the point where the other cannot cast any further spells. No Unforgivables, of course. And nothing that will _compromise_ either of you."

He lifted his brow at her as he added this last and Hermione had a dreadful notion of what could have occurred in other circumstances. At least no one would be Vanishing her clothes!

"Assume proper position," Professor Karkaroff instructed.

So, after bowing to her opponent, Hermione did so. Her heart was pounding in anxiety, but she ordered her thoughts and wandlessly put a shield—the one she'd used years ago to keep people from taking her things—around her wand. It wouldn't do to be disarmed immediately.

 _Progressive_ , Viktor had said. That meant no immediate affliction with boils or bone breaking hexes—she hoped. He was, she was fairly sure, an advanced wizard and he would know far more than she did.

 _I really don't wish to embarrass myself_ , was her last thought before she heard, "Begin!"

* * *

Fred rubbed at the ruddy beard along his jaw, trying to appear casual when he felt anything _but_. "Dueling against Krum? Is that even fair?" he muttered so that only George could hear him. He could feel the tension along his twin's arm; it matched his own. Around them, the Great Hall grew quiet, save for some bets. Now, the Weasley Twins were often unofficial oddmakers—they'd done quite well for themselves at the World Cup just a couple of months ago—but with this?

How could they make sensible odds when it involved Hermione Granger? And how could they bet against their girl?

For she _was_ their girl, at least as far as they were concerned. The one they talked of, planned for, fantasized about when indulging in a gratifying wank now and again. Eventually, Fred supposed, they'd get to the point of telling her some of that, but that day was not yet. Not after her irritation with them over the aging potion (though both of them wondered if Hermione would find their red beards fetching) and not while she was surrounded by famous Quidditch stars.

Or dueling one, for that matter.

But blimey, didn't she look amazing when she _did_ duel?

"Not even, Gred," George replied to his rhetorical question. "Not fair at all."

"If he hurts her . . ."

"I don't think he will. Did you see their conference just before?"

Then, with a nod, they agreed to stop talking and just watch. The initial spells were mild.

" _Impedimenta_!"

" _Ferula_!" —This one made George chuckle. Because Hermione cast it and it served to distract Krum by wrapping his arm in a splint and bandaging. His shield dropped and she went for the Jelly Legs Jinx, but he just laughed at her as he went down, nodding as he _Finite'd_ the jinx and tried something with more punch.

Hermione, though, had become adept at casting a shield. Fred found himself grinning like a fool as he watched Krum become more and more frustrated. Gone was the slightly superior smile; Fred could see the Quidditch Seeker emerge. Brows furrowed, shoulders tight, Krum's focus grew harder upon Hermione.

"He's going to stun her," George predicted. "He doesn't want to hurt her, but he's tired of her shield, I'd wager."

"Not betting against you, Forge."

"Nor me," Ron murmured just behind them. Ron was about their height at this point in his life and Fred guessed that their little brother would one day be not at all little.

Hermione did fling out a hex on occasion, but her frustration was clear as well as some curls worked themselves from her braid and made an undignified mess all about her head. Her face was flushed, her focus grave and sharp, and George was once again glad that he'd opted to wear his school robes. He wasn't wearing a school uniform underneath—just regular clothes—but the robes? Necessary. There had to be something wrong with him to get so turned on watching the girl duel.

" _Stupefy_!" Hermione shouted.

Krum, whose face was also betraying his tension, grimaced as the spell bounced off his shield. He cast with his wand, but used no words and hit her neck with an evident stinging hex.

She hissed as the side of her neck reddened and swelled. George tensed. That had been bloody close to her face and he was pretty sure Viktor hadn't intended to hit her there, but still. Hermione was in pain and didn't have time to treat it if she was going to stay in the duel.

But, despite her pain, she clearly had another surprise up her sleeve. " _Expecto Patronum_!"

That caught everyone's attention, as a handsome, pointy-eared feline leapt from her wand and circled her opponent. While Krum was thus distracted, Hermione cast wordlessly about herself and George guessed she was shoring up her shielding.

Krum, with a bit of a smile, nodded at her; the caracal, trapped within the ward, prowled around his feet. It wasn't tangible, as such, but George imagined it would be a continuing distraction.

"What does she think, that Krum's a Dementor?" George wasn't sure, but he thought that came from Malfoy in the green-tie contingent. "Not fair! Not proper dueling at all!"

Laughter sounded around the warding. "It might not be proper dueling, Mr. Malfoy," came Dumbledore's acknowledgment, "but without lowering the wards, Miss Granger's Patronus cannot leave the dueling arena. And as it's not an Unforgivable, it is not disallowed."

George was rather hoping to hear, "Ten points to Slytherin," just because he had the feeling that if the Hogwarts duelist had been from _another_ house, that might have happened. No one who had been at Hogwarts for more than a year was unaware that the Headmaster favored Gryffindor, for example.

Spells continued to fly and it was easy to see both duelists were growing tired. It was a combination of Hermione having to be creative with her spellwork and Krum's clear desire not to cause her more pain. But when Karkaroff got impatient and shouted, "End it!" Krum nodded shortly.

Fred and George winced in tandem as the Quidditch star fired a series of _Stupefy_ curses at their girl, followed at last by an _Expelliarmus._

As the final stunning hex had been the one to finally do away with her shield, it was only the disarming hex that ended the duel. "At least she wasn't hurt," Fred murmured under the cascade of cheers of the winner's name. And it wasn't just Durmstrang that was behind him, either.

"Just embarrassed. Look at her." George sighed as Hermione stared hard at Krum. "She's so not happy."

The Headmaster banished the wards and the caracal, after a flick of his tail, leapt out of the nearest window with a clear eagerness to be gone. Fred and George moved immediately to try to get to Hermione's side.

But Krum was already there. They could hear him speaking to her in French before he returned her wand and, with a rueful expression, tended to the still-swollen spot on her neck.

"Is it wrong that I want to hit him with a Bludger?"

"A bat wouldn't go amiss just now, that's for sure."

As Beaters for the Gryffindor team, the twins were no strangers to using a good amount of physical force to make a point, even mid-air. "We could use the Dopplebeater." The move that a pair of Beaters could make to send the Bludger with double the force was one they had practically invented. Well, no, but they had made it their own, for sure.

"Yeah," Fred said with a smile. "But no. She'd hex us into next week and we'd miss seeing the Goblet of Fire choose our Champion tonight."

"Oi, Hermione," George called just loudly enough for her to hear them. Krum's sharp eyes narrowed at their approach. George just nodded. Didn't want to come across as aggressive or anything; it had been a good duel, really.

Their girl thanked Krum, also in French, and smiled at George and Fred. "Good to see you looking so young," she told them, her voice even despite her smile. "The beards are . . . different."

Fred offered her a teasing eyebrow-wiggle. "Like it, Granger?"

"Are you planning on keeping them?"

"Not past today," George said. "At least not until hols."

"Might take the mickey out of Mum, though."

"She hates it when any of us do anything different with our hair or anything."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Karkaroff interrupted. "Krum. You've done vell. She vas an unconventional and unexpected opponent, no?"

Krum bowed toward Hermione, which she returned before they both bowed to the two Headmasters. "Miss Granger vas a challenge, yes," Krum admitted, back straight.

Hermione's shoulders were equally straight and stiff. "Mr. Krum is a powerful and clever wizard."

"Krum! Krum! Krum!"

Ron shouted, "Sounds like a Quidditch match in here!"

Viktor Krum did not appear pleased that this was the truth. He leaned in close to Hermione's ear and the twins only caught his words by the luck of a sudden cessation of sound around them. "Vill see you at lunch?"

At her nod, he stepped away and George and Fred immediately flanked her. "Good duel, Hermione," George told her, covering her left shoulder with his right hand.

Fred patted her back twice. "Really good. The bit with the _Ferula_ was brilliant and I've never seen anyone use a Patronus in a duel before. Smashing!"

"I thought it might help," she said quietly.

"Miss Granger." Professor Snape stepped forth to stand squarely in front of Hermione, his expression as blank as it often was. "How is your neck? Do you need to see the Healer?" He cast a dark look at Fred as if to ask why they hadn't done this already.

Hermione, though, provided the answer. "Thank you, Professor, but I'm fine. Mr. Krum took care of it already. He's quite accomplished."

"Mm. Yes. Quite. Well done, Miss Granger. Though you didn't win, neither did you disgrace our House."

She smiled a tiny, very Slytherin smile, George saw. "Thank you, sir. That was my entire goal, not to disgrace our House."

"Indeed." With a nod at the twins, the Potions Master turned and billowed away.

Krum was being surrounded by his school mates and, it seemed, half of Hogwarts as well as Beauxbatons. Hermione was alone, again, which made Fred's heart ache.

"Dunno about you," he said in an airy manner, "but I could do with a Butterbeer."

Hermione raised one brow in that intimidating way she had. "What, do you keep some in your dorm?"

"Cor, no. We can get into the kitchens."

* * *

After the Halloween Feast that evening, at the end of what had been, for Hermione, an extraordinarily long day, Dumbledore caught the attention of everyone in the entire castle when he brought the Goblet of Fire into the Great Hall.

"And now," he announced in his grand manner, "the Goblet will choose a Champion from each school for the Triwizard Tournament! Eternal glory may be sought and won by . . ."

The Goblet seemed to belch a gout of silvery flame that reminded Hermione vaguely of an attempted Patronus. With it came a slip of paper, fluttering into Dumbledore's fingers like a flower petal.

"From Beauxbatons, Fleur Delacour!"

Cheers from the French school rose to bounce off the stoney castle walls as the other schools applauded politely.

The applause stopped when another burst of wispy flame came from the Goblet and another burnt-edged paper seemed to fly to the Headmaster's hand.

"From Durmstrang, Viktor Krum!"

"Krum! Krum! Krum!"

The cheers came again as they often seemed to, around the young man. Hermione was watching his face as he sat next to her. A fierce light flared in his eyes and he nodded abruptly. His body seemed to tense, but then he relaxed as his friends congratulated him. He turned to look at her, a question between his heavy brows.

"Do you congratulate me, Hehrmyohnee?" He was gaining fluidity in his pronunciation of her name, at any rate.

She tried to summon a good, social smile. "If you're happy, I'm happy for you, Viktor. But you know I think this is very dangerous." He nodded. She continued. "Still, if I can help you, you know, research or anything? I will."

"And our own Hogwarts Champion is Cedric Diggory!"

Thunder exploded from the Hufflepuff table and then from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. At Slytherin, the applause was tepid, but Hermione joined in, because Diggory was a good fellow and Hogwarts was her school.

"Congratulations to the Champions of the Triwizard Tournament! Now, come up here, the three of you, with your Headmasters." Viktor looked at the table for a moment before rising. Hermione tried to encourage him with a hand on his arm. He felt as if he could be a new friend for her, and he had influence in the world. She wanted to be a friend for him, too.

He offered her a quick, hard smile and stood, meeting Karkaroff on the front dais where the professors were gathered. Madam Maxime stood proudly behind Fleur Delacour, and Dumbledore and Professor Sprout—the latter being the Head of Diggory's House—stood with Cedric Diggory. Dumbledore was just waxing some sort of eloquent on the honor done to these students and their families when the Goblet spewed forth yet another name.

The Great Hall seemed to shout in protest before every throat was silenced and Hermione could only stare at the paper Dumbledore held in his hand.

"Harry Potter."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** And...I'll be away for a bit. Heading out of town and my time won't be my own. The wi-fi? Uncertain. Please forgive me if I can't get to answering reviews for a few days. The next chapter should be up on Tuesday, however. I'll be home by then and back to my usual replying madness. :)_


	22. Chapter Twenty-One: Learning of Dragons

_A/N: Sorry I'm a few hours late, on this update! Thank you for all the kind wishes for my weekend away. Home now, trying to de-stress, and enjoying a cup of drama-free coffee. My thanks to all who are following this AU! I'll be back in responding-author mode with this chapter, so please make sure that you're signed in and accepting PMs if you ask me a question._

 _Where were we? Oh, yes. The Triwizard Tournament. . ._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

 ** _Hogwarts, 22 November 1994_**

Exhaustion tugged at her limbs, but Hermione couldn't sleep. The First Task for the Tournament was due to happen in two days and she had seen her friends from Durmstrang stressing to an unusual degree over it.

No one knew what it would be, that first event. And ignorance was most certainly not bliss, as any of the Champions or their friends would attest. Hermione had given Stasia, Marko, and Viktor a thorough tour of the Library (gaining for herself an open pass into the Restricted Section that she had been coveting for quite some time) and she kept her offer of help open.

Even if those in her House and school called her a traitor for so doing.

"You're, you're consorting with the enemy!" Ron Weasley had shouted as she and the Durmstrang students were seen leaving the Library late one night. "You should be helping one of _us_!"

Her back well and truly up, Hermione had kept her mask in place. The cool one. The one that said nothing anyone ever said or did would bother her. "Weasley. From what I've heard, none of you are supporting Potter, whom you claim to be your friend. You all think that he cheated to get his name in the Goblet." At the redhead's stuttering efforts at denial, she held up a hand and continued with a dressing-down that would prove to do some good in the not-too-distant future. "Stop. Gossip is everywhere and I'm in class with your brothers and the sixth year Gryffindors, remember, for Advanced Defense. I hear things. Do you really think Potter is more bothered by the 'disloyalty' of me being of use to our guests or by his _best friend_ thinking he's a liar?"

Weasley's face went bright red and she turned from him. "Come," she said in her improving Bulgarian. "Let's go."

Learning Bulgarian was on her list of things to do this year. It was prudent, she believed, to learn more languages and if she were seeking employment outside of England in the future, another tongue couldn't hurt. In addition, it was a compliment to Viktor and his friends that she was learning their language. And that could only be a benefit as well.

That Viktor was making her feel safer than she had felt in all her years at Hogwarts had, she told herself, nothing to do with it. Because, truly, though she liked him and felt safe with him, she thought there was something missing from her feelings. Something that she had with the Weasley twins. Both of them. Which was never going to happen, right?

So, was there something wrong with feeling comfortable?

Though she'd never admit it to anyone, it was this quandary that had her outside of her room around midnight. Dressed in a set of flannel pyjamas, wrapped in her school robes, and covered with a warming charm she had learned from Stasia earlier in the month, she felt comfortable enough to leave the dorm and step quietly down to the common room.

Though that room was quiet, the hearth was lit. It was protected by an anti-spark charm so the flames would not escape into the room. Perhaps, she hoped, she could find a good place to think. About why she was feeling the way she was. Why she was still so hopelessly attracted to the Gryffindor Duo and their broad shoulders and identical grins and the way they could talk about magic and experimentation with her. She wallowed in their friendship and exulted in the fact that they were brave enough to maintain it with her, even when they were hassled by others of their House.

Viktor was a great guy, too. Very much the Tall, Dark, and Handsome sort, though rather lean. Seekers were like that, she understood. He was highly intelligent, had a keen sense of humor, and he was kind to her.

Kindness and comfort. A wonderfully appealing combination.

His voice reached her ear and she smiled a little, thinking it was her imagination. But it wasn't, for he was speaking in Bulgarian, a note of pleading mixed with irritation in the tone, though she couldn't understand the words.

His voice was only an echo, though, so she followed it, after disillusioning herself. The disillusionment unfortunately did something to the warming charm, but secrecy was her highest priority so she hurried from the Dungeons to find Viktor arguing with his Headmaster.

Why here? They slept in the ship in Black Lake. Why were they in the Castle? Were they meeting someone?

Then, they abruptly pushed against the wall and gradually disappeared from view. They, too, had disillusioned themselves and Hermione saw why. Hagrid was walking with Potter and they were heading to one of the doors that led out of the castle.

 _Well, blow me_ . . . she thought. Where was Potter going at this hour and so close to the First Task?

A rustle near her told her that it was likely Karkaroff and Viktor would be following! A strange pressure covered her chest and she skittered out, wondering if she should follow or not. She was wearing her slippers, but it was late November in Scotland, so slippers would not be enough, surely, if she couldn't be warm.

Still, she felt the need to know. So, taking a breath, she followed them. She crept through the Hall, trying to pace her steps with Viktor's because then she'd be less noticeable if they paused.

At the final door to go outside, Karkaroff halted, muttering something in their native tongue that she thought meant, "Stop."

So she did. As did Viktor. And Karkaroff's disillusioned form opened the door to follow Hagrid and Potter.

As soon as the door was shut, Viktor turned to her. "I know you are here. Who are you?"

She gasped and then tried to hold her breath. Still, the man was a Quidditch Seeker and had, apparently, unerring instincts. He did a quick spin with his arms extended and before she could slip away, he caught her robes!

He tugged her close and she swore under her breath. No help for it, she decided. "Careful," she whispered in Bulgarian.

"Hehrmyoni!" He clasped her hands in his, and they both stayed next to invisible. "Vhy you here?" he asked, shifting to English for no reason she could ascertain.

"Couldn't sleep."

He made an impatient sound. "Dangerous, my friend."

"For you, too."

He moved and pressed her back against the wall before settling next to her. She could now feel the warmth of his body even through their spells. It was a relief and she leaned into him. "Why are you here?"

"Karkaroff. Has idea to help vith Task." His agitation was evident in the lack of fluidity in his speech.

She tried French. "Does he know what is to come?"

"Potter will know and then Karkaroff will know and tell me."

She went back to English in her surprise. "Well, that's cheating, yeah?"

She heard Viktor laugh softly, his body relaxing further against the stone wall. "I vill tell others. Ve vill be the same, then."

Nodding, she was satisfied. "It's ridiculous, all this secrecy. You'll face it alone, and the tasks are quite dangerous. In all my research, I've read about dragons, and merpeople, and flying, and facing a slew of dangerous creatures. Dueling golems. It can be frightening, Viktor."

He took her hand in his. "I vill be fine. Do not vorry."

She snorted. "Famous last words."

"Vhat?"

She squeezed his hand. "Never mind. Can I wait with you?"

" _Da_."

They continued with Bulgarian lessons, including the verb conjugations of "to wait", "to duel", and "to cheat". At length, Karkaroff returned—practically running through the door.

"Krum!"

With a hand over her face—they had maintained their Disillusion spells, but Viktor knew right where she was—her friend compelled her to silence while he answered. " _Da_?"

The Bulgarian was fast and breathy, as if Karkaroff had run the whole way from wherever he'd been. She heard "Forest" and " _drakon_ " which she would bet was dragon!

"Come," the Headmaster said at length.

And, unable to do so privately, Krum squeezed her invisible hand before following Karkaroff out the door.

"Dragons," he whispered just over her head before he did so.

Dragons. She was right. Damn it.

* * *

 ** _23 November 1994_**

Fred and George had watched and waited, but Hermione hadn't appeared at breakfast, which was unlike her. She always started her day with tea and porridge. Concerned, they crossed the Great Hall to the Slytherin table, but they went to the end where the Durmstrang students always sat at meals. Catching Viktor Krum's eye, they skipped the preambles in their concern. "Where is she?"

"I vas going to ask you same qvestion," Krum answered, standing to his full height—which was rather more than theirs, but George tried not to feel inferior. After all, Krum was . . . Krum! "She vas not here for meal."

"Thank you, Krum." Fred nodded his head. "I guess we'll check the Library next. Unless . . ." He frowned, wondering.

"Unless what?" That came from a pretty girl with chestnut brown hair.

"Unless she's ill." He met the girl's eyes directly. "Might she be? We don't even know who her dorm mates are, really."

The girl blinked and seemed to think hard, pursing her lips and half-closing her eyes. "I don't know them, either. But I don't think she'd be ill. She was well yesterday."

Krum shifted uncomfortably in his boots and George noticed. "D'you think she might be ill?"

"Vell. She vas up late last night."

That sent little alarm bells ringing in Fred's head. "Oh?" He felt his gut tighten and tried not to let that show in his face.

Krum studied him for a moment and shook his head. "Is not vhat you might think. She can tell you, as you are _vriends_."

George nudged him in the ribs. "Let's go check the Library, yeah? If we find her, Krum, we'll let you know."

"Thank you."

Walking rapidly away, Fred didn't look at his twin. "Library?"

"Library."

"What if she's not there? I don't know that I want to ask which of the Slytherin girls are fifth years."

"Ask a house-elf?" George reached the staircase and hoped heartily for it to cooperate.

They did and he smiled a little while he patted the wall. "Thanks, there, Hogwarts."

Peeves sailed overhead, his laughter ringing airily. "Our home does like to be remembered…!"

"Right, there, Peeves!" they called out in unison as they charged up the stairs together.

Once at the Library, it took less than a moment to find their favorite bookworm at her usual table. "Oi, Granger!" Fred called softly. "Defense soon. Don't tell us you're skiving off!"

She looked up, her hair all about her head and shoulders in a wild cascade of disorder that George found particularly charming. Her eyes, though, were exhausted, bloodshot, and seemed sunken with sleepless circles under them. "Sorry?" she whispered. "What? Already?"

"What've you got there, Hermione?" Fred asked, leaning over the table to examine the books and small scraps of parchment that were stacked here and there. "Looks like a right mess, which isn't like you at all."

"Helping Viktor."

A knowing look passed between the brothers. "Yeah. Our brother Charlie made it down here last night." Fred wondered if they should tell her what they knew, but after another look at her work, realized it wouldn't be necessary. "Er, apparently, he has an in on what's happening tomorrow."

George pushed out a breath. "C'mon, you two. We've got to get to class. Unless you're skiving, Hermione, in which case we'll stay with you." He picked up one of the stacks of scrap parchment. "Oh, well, now. Look at this." He swallowed and stared at the girl. "Dragons. Like, tiny reference sheets, yeah?"

"We called them flashcards in my primary school. Basic facts about each dragon that inhabits the British islands. But, if your brother is here—"

"He's from the Romanian Reserve, yeah," Fred said with a slow nod. He eyed the parchment as well. "Can we talk about this on the way to Defense?"

She blinked, inhaled sharply, and nodded. Her focus was clearer as she compiled her notes and took long looks at the tomes before her. "I made a set for Viktor," she told them quietly.

Flanking her, they left the Library. "D'you suppose you could do the same for Harry?" George ventured to ask. "I know he's not a friend of yours, but—"

"He's a friend of ours," Fred said. "What's on the parchments, anyway?"

"Strengths and weaknesses for each of the breeds, common attack patterns, defense, flaming circumferences, that kind of thing." She bit her lip as their DADA classroom came into view. "I want to help Potter, as he is your friend, but I've been working on these since before dawn and I don't have time to copy them again."

"Well, as to that," Fred said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile and tug on a lock of her hair, "There's a charm that duplicates things. We'll teach it to you. We can use it on these notes and then your friend and our friend will both have them. Can we do that?"

"You'll teach me the spell, too?"

George tugged on a different lock of her hair just as they reached the classroom. "Of course. We're partners, yeah?"

The boys were warmed clear down to their toes when she smiled at each of them. "Yeah, we are."

* * *

Her stomach felt achy, she was so hungry by the time Defense was over. Moody had them studying Inferi, of all things, which knowledge she hoped would _not_ be needed during the Tournament. One of the girls from Gryffindor had tried to sick up her breakfast when Moody showed a rare wizarding picture of a group of Inferi someone had taken years ago.

Zombies, really. She hated them. They terrified her and, upon seeing the moving picture, she stiffened in her chair. Fred, who was sitting next to her, nudged her with his shoulder and covered her hand where it was gripping her wand with white-knuckled fear.

She was able to relax only after the image was put away, which was when Fred slowly removed his hand from hers. "Sorry," she muttered.

"My pleasure," he said with a slanted smile. "You know." Then, all of a sudden, blood suffused his cheeks and she didn't have the opportunity to inquire as to why he was blushing.

Not that she likely would have; a man had his secrets, same as a woman did. But still, she was quite curious.

However, they were on their way to lunch and she was resigned to tabling her curiosity until a more prudent moment. "Let me just show the dragon notes to Viktor," she suggested to the twins as they entered the Great Hall," and then you can teach me the duplicating charm after lunch and we'll both have a set, all right?"

"Fair enough," George said with a smile and another tug on her hair. What was with them and her hair that morning? Hermione wasn't sure. She wasn't going to complain about it, though. "See you after?"

"Sure." They each of them tugged one more time on her hair—right there in the Great Hall in front of everyone!—and veered off to the Gryffindor table, sitting down next to Potter and their little brother.

She went to her table, where "her" space had been left open. "Hehrmyoni!" Viktor greeted her, rising and smiling with concern etching lines on his forehead as he waited for her to be seated. "Vehr verr you this morning? Veasley vriends came looking. They found you, yes?"

" _Da_ ," she said, smiling in a general way at the Durmstrang students who still sat on this end of the table. The population had integrated somewhat with the rest of Slytherin House, but still, Viktor, Marko, Stasia, Irina, Gretchen, Roland, and a fellow Englishman, Oliver, called this end of the Slytherin table their own. "Sorry if I worried you," she said, meeting Viktor's gaze with specific intent of communication. "I was doing some emergency research."

His dark brows flew upward. "Oh?"

" _Drakon_?" she said quietly, asking him as subtly as she could if the others could know of what they knew.

He glanced about them quickly. The rest of the Durmstrangers, seeing his furtive posture, leaned in over the table just a little, as if to hear a secret. "What is it?" Gretchen from Hamburg asked in French, which had become their preferred tongue over many meals.

Hermione waited to see what Viktor would reveal; she didn't wish to say more than the designated Champion of his school would say. He knew his schoolmates better than she did. After pausing for a few moments, Viktor murmured, "The First Task has to do with dragons. Do not react, Irina. Quiet."

"What were you researching?" Roland whispered.

"Dragons, of course." Hermione Summoned her bag from the floor—wordlessly and wandlessly, to the obvious interest of those nearest her—and retrieved the stack of parchment scraps she had made. "In my primary school, we called this sort of thing, a study aid, flashcards. They're just bare information, separated from other information. I made them for Viktor, so he can review what is known about each breed of dragon."

Stasia's chestnut brows were finely arched. "Oh? You knew of this this morning?"

Viktor coughed a little. "Yes. She found Karkaroff and me last night and heard him." With a rather proud smile, he gently tugged on a lock of her hair. "Her Bulgarian is improving."

What was it with boys and her hair that day? Hermione was bemused and a little annoyed. After years and years of being basically ignored (save for hexes and so on) it was quite unnerving to be the recipient of so much affectionate and playful attention. With a quick inhalation, she shoved her discomfort down. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He took the flashcards and flipped through them, sharing them around to the interested lookers-on. "These are quite good."

"Sorry they're in English. It is easier for me think in that language."

Gretchen laughed softly. "It is the same for all of us. These are well done."

Viktor ran one hand over his short hair before meeting her gaze again. His was a little uncomfortable. "Hehrmyoni."

"Yes?"

"I felt it would not be fair for Potter and me only to know. So I told Fleur Delacour this morning."

The other Durmstrang students looked surprised, but they—like Hermione—were all ultimately pleased. "That is very fair," she allowed. "I have been asked to share the flashcards with Potter, as well."

The Bulgarian tightened his grip on the papers that had come back to him already. "But—"

She smiled. "Wait. The Weasley brothers know a duplicating spell. Do you?"

"Ah!" The soft exclamation came from several throats. "Of course."

Marko wiggled his eyebrows playfully. "You want to be careful with this one, Hermione. It is a duplication charm, but the copies do not last as long, and sometimes the spell gets out of hand. And only the caster can stop it."

She nodded shortly. "All right. Show me."

He did, saying the incantation, " _Geminio_ ", first so she could get the right rhythm and emphasis. Then, he did the quick swirl and slash with his wand so she could practice that.

"Now," Viktor said, covering her wand hand with his own large and callused one, "you must eat before you start duplicating all these things. They are small, but a new spell takes energy."

Annoyed, she pressed her lips together and reminded herself that he was just looking out for her wellbeing and that it would not do to irritate foreign guests that she hoped to have on her side if she went abroad after her education. "Thank you," she said after a moment. "You're quite right, of course."

Lunch that day was a vegetable beef soup and chunks of thick, crusty bread. While they ate, Viktor tucked the dragon flashcards away, and they all agreed to speak of other things. Hermione decided to inquire after the German Ministry of Magic, which meant Gretchen carried most of the conversation for the rest of the meal.

* * *

Fred pulled Harry aside just as lunch was finishing. "Hey. I know you're really stressed about tomorrow," he began, facing away from most of the Hall's occupants, "but I think we can help a bit."

Harry looked as tired as Hermione had been earlier that morning. He took of his glasses and scrubbed at his eyes before shaking himself all over like a dog shook off water. "I know you two are only trying to help, but I don't think a dragon's going to be put off by a dungbomb, yeah?"

Fred had to laugh at that. The image was so ridiculous but he could see it so clearly. "Er, no, Harry. Actually, what we've got for you is far more practical."

"And brilliant!" George said, chiming in over Fred's shoulder.

"See, you're not the only one who knows what's what, yeah?" Harry's eyes went wide. "Shut it. Now. The brightest witch of her year spent—"

"Who knows how long she spent? The girl lives in the Library!"

"Making notes on dragons. So you can study them right quick, yeah?"

"Granger?" Potter asked in a loud whisper, peering around Fred toward the Slytherin table.

Fred and George did likewise, seeing Hermione at the center of tall Durmstrang students. "That's the one, yeah."

"So, we'll go get the notes for you."

"She said we could." Fred turned and clapped Harry on one shoulder. "Then, you can figure out how to confront them."

"Each one!"

"Merlin's bloody broom," Harry said, tearing at his hair with both hands. "Well, thanks. I'm sure it'll help."

George took a bit of offense at Harry's casual acceptance of their offer. After all, Hermione had worked herself into near exhaustion, had missed breakfast, and was going to have to learn a new charm to make it so that Harry could take advantage of her efforts. He frowned at the younger wizard. "Look, she doesn't have to share them with you if you don't want her notes. I'm sure Krum will benefit enough for all of you."

"Shite. Yeah. Sorry. Fine, of course. I'm just so . . ."

"Tired," the twins said in unison. "We know."

"Wait for us in the common room, then, and we'll bring them right over, yeah?"

Ron, still with a hunk of bread in one hand, joined them. "What we need to do, Harry, is figure out your strongest skill and work with that. Something that you can adapt to any situation."

Fred gaped at his younger brother. "Why, Ron!"

"I do believe you've had a good idea," George declared.

"We'll alert the _Daily Prophet_!"

In another moment or two, the twins were on their way across the Great Hall to take up with Hermione. Again, in front of everyone. This time, there were more comments from the other houses.

"Cor! What kind of prank would they be playing on Krum the day before the First Task?"

"Think Potter sent 'em?"

"Could be they're after Granger. Maybe Potter needs her help—not that she's of age, either."

"No, but she's wicked smart."

At that, Fred and George looked at one another with big grins on their faces. "That's our girl." Then, they were there and they called, "Oi! Granger!"

" _Geminio_!"

Shock held them still and quiet for a moment, in which she took the replicated piece of parchment and stacked it with some others. Her bowl of soup, George noted absently, was half full. He guessed she had been too excited to learn the spell to eat properly.

One of the girls at the table—Fred didn't know her name—invited them to join them rather than stand on the outskirts of their group. "She is making many copies and will be a while," the girl said. Her accent was not the same as Krum's, but it was clear that she wasn't English. "You would like to sit down?"

"Thank you," George said, and the students shifted about to make room for them. They waited until Hermione took a break to call her name again. "Oi, Hermione!"

Her expression was rather smug. "I learned," she informed them, quite unnecessarily. Then, she added, "And I was told that copies don't last very long. Do you think it'll be okay through tomorrow's Task?"

Fred nodded. "We've used that spell before on paper."

"Not homework," George assured her with a knowing look. Hermione did not shirk and didn't allow anyone else to, either. "Just stuff around the house."

"Or when we wanted to borrow a book but didn't want it to be missing."

Her eyes went wide. "Oh." She nodded once. "That . . . could be useful."

George reached over for the nearest stack of parchments. "Are these done?"

She arched one brow in that Snape-like manner that he found so intimidating. "Not yet. I'm going to make a copy for each of the Champions."

Fred opened his mouth to say something, but found he really had nothing to say. Part of him wanted to ask her to reserve the information for just his friend and her friend, to give them advantages, but then he realized that it was her work. All of it. It would be like someone telling him whom he could give pranking props to. So he nodded slowly and looked over the parchments.

 _Common Welsh Green_

 _*Size: Average is 18 feet for an adult. Females are larger than males._

 _*Less aggressive than most. Prefers to hunt for sheep._

 _*Breathes fire in narrow jets rather than wide swaths. Sustained for two to three seconds before it has to breathe in again._

 _*Uses all four taloned limbs to hunt when on the wing. Most vulnerable where the underwing meets the body._

 _*Light flares have been found to be efficacious in distracting it._

Hermione's script was neat, precise, and her lines were straight across, no meandering. She used little stars at the beginning of each part of the description. She also included the books she used for information for further reference.

"Hermione," he said quietly, "you're a wonder."

"Just thorough," she said in between incantations of " _Geminio."_

* * *

 _ **A/N: For the unrepentantly American** —such as myself—among my readers, **"blow me"** is slang, short for **"blow me down"** , meaning one is **shocked** so that one could be " **knocked over with a feather"**. It is not a request for, er, services. (A lot of my British slang and terminology comes from a site called **Effingpot dot Com. Slash slang**. Of course.) See you tomorrow! _


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two: First Task

_**A/N:** My thanks to **smos** , who caught review #800, as well as everyone else who is reading, reviewing, and adding this story to their lists. :) It's greatly appreciated!_

 _ **Note** to Guest Sarah: This fic was noted as AU in the introductory note before the prologue._

 _ **Note** to Guest Amelia: The all-boys Durmstrang was movie-canon, but not book-canon. In this AU, there are girls at Durmstrang and boys at Beauxbatons._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two: First Task**

 ** _Hogwarts, 24 November 1994_**

"I'm _not_ here for Harry Potter," Hermione informed George in a tone that told him she was serious.

"What, after all that work you went through to get him the notes?" He was standing on the rear of the bleachers, which were arranged around the arena that had been built on a hill near Hogwarts itself. Unsurprisingly, each Champion had their own cheering section. Black and yellow for Diggory, blue and white for Delacour from Beauxbatons, a strong crimson group—complete with fur-lined capes—for Krum, and loyal Gryffindors with their House scarves for Potter. Even if they didn't all support _him_ , they'd rather support a Gryffindor than anyone else.

The green Slytherin scarves were bunched together and had seemed to support Diggory and Krum, sometimes at the same time.

Hermione, though, had shown a preference for Krum. "I didn't do it for Potter. I did it for Viktor," she reminded him.

That stung a bit, as well as making George even more anxious about the famous Quidditch star than he had been. He would never begrudge Hermione having friends—she hadn't had any her entire time at Hogwarts and that was partly his and Fred's fault—but he could wish that the person she seemed closest to from Durmstrang were one of the _girls_ instead.

"Well, thank you. I hope that Diggory and Delacour appreciated their copies, too?"

Her eyes were steady but not pleased. "I suppose."

George opted not to pursue that as it was getting close to time for the Task to begin. "So, how about you sit with me and Fred even if you don't cheer for Harry?"

"Your friends might not _appreciate_ having me in their midst," she said with a narrow look toward the red and gold group where Fred was already moving people about.

"Hermione." He waited until she met his gaze and waited some more until her own softened a bit. "Weren't you on about prejudice between the Houses? And blood?" At her nod, he tried a small smile. "All right, then. You can stand up to it by joining us."

" _Us_ as in you and Fred or as in Gryffindor?"

"Just me and Fred." He grinned. "You can sit in the middle and we'll be your bodyguards."

She angled a brow up at him. "Right. I'll just shield myself, thanks."

He shook his head. "Don't. You won't be able to enjoy the excitement. Really, You'll be fine."

After taking a deep breath that inadvertently drew his attention to her chest, which was filling out her jumper rather nicely, she tugged on her Slytherin scarf. "All right. I'll sit with you. Not for Potter, but because we're friends."

"Of course."

Fred, naturally, knew his plan and was waiting for them. George offered him a discreet look of triumph as he comically bowed Hermione to go in front of him. Fred stood as well, meeting her with another bow to show her where they were sitting.

" _Because we're friends_ ," she had said. As he waited for the first task to commence, George remembered one of the first times she had said that to him and Fred.

 _"I'm showing you these pictures because we're friends. I expect reciprocity at some point," Hermione had said, holding a series of pictures next to her chest a day after the Three-on-One incident in the Great Hall. "And you can't show them to anyone else, all right?"_

 _That right there had got George's interest piqued to an unhealthy level. She was going to give them pictures. Of herself. On a beach in France._

 _"Right," he and Fred had assured her together._

 _"Okay, so." She flipped one out of her on a stretch of sand with something that looked like a castle in the background. He didn't hear where it was taken, exactly, because everything in him was focusing on not drooling or making a stupid remark. She was on a flimsy-looking chair with a book in her hand, but what he noticed more than anything else was all the skin._

 _It wasn't something he had thought about much, before seeing the pictures, but the fact was that a bloke didn't see a whole lot of female skin at Hogwarts. The uniforms—though some wore them tighter and shorter than others—were all in all designed to cover a girl from neck to ankle. Tights were worn under skirts, and the school robes made everyone out to be shapeless for the most part. And he liked the robes, because they were good at concealing . . . things. Like inappropriate reactions to seeing a lot of skin on a pretty girl._

 _Hermione's swimming costume was not as revealing as pictures he'd glimpsed in_ Wild Wizard _. A raunchy rag, maybe, but issues floated about at a boarding school, didn't they? Hermione's suit in that first picture she showed them was all of one piece, in pink and black. There were no straps or ties that he could see, and she was holding her free hand over her eyes to shade them, which had the result of demonstrating a hint of cleavage that he couldn't seem to stop staring at._

 _Even though the picture didn't move, George felt a part of himself move enough on its own and he was doing his level best not to stare at Hermione in her usual school jumper knowing what was under it._

 _"And we took this one," she went on to say, "at Palombaggia. Swimming there was just wonderful. The water felt delicious," she added with a smile._

 _A glance at his brother told George that Fred didn't even notice the gem-toned blue of the sea. He was practically caressing the picture of Hermione hitting a colorful ball in the air. She was wearing a pair of tiny shorts and a top that tied behind her neck but left her back mostly bare._

 _Red was definitely Hermione's color, he had decided_.

And she was surrounded by it as Dumbledore announced the First Task was beginning.

* * *

Hermione was tense. Being surrounded by Gryffindors wasn't her favorite place to be, for they were hostile toward her and she was trying—truly—not to fidget and feel defensive. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the disparaging glances and raised brows. Murmurs were indistinct, but she tried not to listen to closely, regardless. Facing down prejudice was not easy. Defending herself in a confrontation in a hall or common room was more her style.

Fred nudged her a little, jerking his chin off to one side of the arena. "Look, there's Charlie. Remember him?"

She couldn't see any particular person in detail, but she saw a flare of red hair amongst the dragon handlers. "With the Swedish Short Snout waiting down there?"

Fred blinked a bit in obvious surprise before grinning down at her. "Well, yeah. Of course you'd know, right? We should introduce you. Ever thought of being a dragon keeper?"

"No." Then, she cocked her head a bit. "I don't recognize him from here, but I do remember your brother from first year, yeah. So, he's the one as tipped you off?"

"More or less," Fred admitted after a momentary grimace. "And there's Diggory!"

The Hufflepuffs and other assorted students erupted into cheers for their Champion. That many still felt he was truly the only Hogwarts Champion meant that most of the school was focused on him and his success. Diggory was a fit one, to be sure, and he had girls swooning all over school. Even some from Beauxbatons.

"Blimey, look what he did!" George shouted. Hermione confessed privately to herself that she did appreciate that the boys—while staunch friends with Potter—were able to cheer for the other Champions as well. "Go, Diggory!"

The Hufflepuff boy, after emerging into the arena and sizing the situation up with the Swedish Short Snout, Summoned a fair-sized boulder and transfigured it into a playful dog! "Not bad," she allowed.

Fred laughed at her. "Not bad! Bloody brilliant, that was."

Once the dragon was distracted, Diggory hurried to get the golden egg the dragon guarded and was fair on his way out. Hermione could see Charlie Weasley, even, holding the barrier open so that Diggory could get to safety and he—Charlie—could get to his dragon. But then, disaster!

The dragon found it was missing an egg and it turned to flame Diggory in retaliation, but instead, it flamed Charlie Weasley!

"No!" Fred and George were on their feet in a heartbeat. They didn't seem to think—didn't even ask her—before they were pulling her to her feet and leaving their seats. "Ron!" they called over the cheers for Diggory and the announcement of the next Champion. "C'mon!" They didn't wait to see if their brother heard or followed.

She was half-dragged, half-surrounded as they dashed up steps and down steps, moving through their own Housemates as well as visiting reporters and other people whom Hermione couldn't place. Fred was in front of her, holding her hand with a steel-fingered grip that she only tried once to escape. Behind her, George had his hand on her shoulders, clutching at her spasmodically.

She didn't attempt to converse with either of them. It was clear that their entire focus was on getting to their elder brother who had been flamed by that dragon. In her mind, as they thundered down wooden steps and hurried three abreast around the fenced in arena toward the Healers' Enclosure, she reviewed what she had learned about surviving dragon fire.

As with any burn, the key to survival and recovery depended almost entirely on which parts of the body were burnt. Some areas were more serious than others. An arm, while painful, was not life threatening, though it was an entire arm and the skin might be charred. But a more minor burn to the groin area could and did brought far more harmful consequences.

And the face? Miserable. The fluid in the eyes could boil and _explode_ , just for an example.

With _that_ gruesome image in mind, Hermione came to a sudden stop in front of a tent that was surrounded by frantic healers.

"Where's our brother? Where's Charlie Weasley?" Fred and George demanded in tandem.

One of the healers stopped, her robes fluttering with the never-ending movements of her hands. She eyed the boys up and down, precisely once each. "He's being treated. You'll have to wait here."

Hermione would never, later, know what either of the twins were thinking when they both looked to her. Their clear brown eyes—George's narrowed in distress, Fred's wide and pleading—both met hers in turn, and their silent need for her to do _something_ hit her in the stomach and chest as if she had been hit with one of those ridiculous Bludgers the boys batted about in Quidditch.

All the while, the name of Fleur Delacour was being called by Dumbledore, along with the announcement that she'd be facing a Common Welsh Green.

Why couldn't Diggory have faced _that_ one? It would have been less likely to flame Charlie Weasley, as it was less aggressive.

Still, there were the twins, uncaring of that. Hermione analyzed the situation while the Healer fluttered away, and made up a plan. "All right. Which of you is more sneaky? Like better able to move without being seen?"

"Either of us. You taught us that charm, right?"

"Right. Okay. Well then, you choose which one of you stays with me and which one hides in plain sight to sneak in whilst I distract another Healer, all right? They've been coming in and out of that flap, there, and—"

"Bloody effing shite, man! Can't you Vanish that without touching me?" The loud male voice had to be Charlie's, she surmised, and the twins' faces crumpled in response.

"Come on, lads. We'll get one of you in, anyway. At least you have some idea as to where you should go!"

George murmured the incantation and tapped himself on the head with his wand.

"Right then, Hermione. Now what?" Fred gripped her hand in his, squeezing her fingers.

She grimaced, but forbore to comment; the boy was under a lot of stress. "Now, we distract them." She had a new happy thought to use for her Patronus, these days. It was the time she was sitting with the boys and sharing her vacation pictures from France. It had been so pleasant, and rather thrilling at the same, time, to see their eyes glaze over and to watch Fred almost touch her picture with his finger. She still had no thought of choosing one rather than the other—how could she?—so she was happy just to have a friendship such as they shared.

" _Expecto Patronum_!"

Out leapt her caracal. "Go on, race through the tent here and then look for danger!"

"Cor, Hermione," Fred whispered, his face alight with the silvery presence of her Patronus. "There he goes!"

The caracal dashed into the Healers' Tent, causing something of an uproar as various healers shouted, swore, and expressed surprise at the presence of such an unexpected thing. Some of them, indeed, came running out of the tent, worried as to what the Patronus portended.

"Go on, slide in there and find your brother," she advised Fred.

"Thanks, Hermione!"

Once he was gone, Hermione set about finding where her caracal went off to, for she had told it to look for danger. She ran around the tent and saw it waiting for her, flicking its well-defined ears at her. "I'm coming!"

With half a skip, glad she had decided to wear her trainers with jeans and a jumper that day, she set off at a run with her wand in her hand. The feline had doubled back toward the arena, so she followed, only to find it stopping near her Defense professor.

"Danger?" she whispered, not comprehending entirely, but also remembering that her Patronus had sniffed out Professor Moody in class that other day, as well. "Thank you, Caracal," she said, nearly subvocally as she barely moved her lips. The caracal flicked his ears again and faded into silvery smoke before disappearing.

Professor Moody started swearing as he stood near the entrance to the Champions' Tent. "Bloody hell, girl. What's with your cat, here, bothering the shite out of me? I'm trying to guard the feckin' tent!"

"Sorry, Professor Moody," she said, studying him very carefully. He glared at her with that weird eye of his before whipping out that flask and taking a mouthful of whatever it was. What _was_ it, anyway? "Can I get you some more of whatever you're drinking?"

His face went utterly still and he reached for his wand. Her heart crashed in her chest. She had been prying, true, but he looked like he was sincerely considering hexing her. There was a rumor that he'd hexed Malfoy at the start of term—no loss, but not what she would think an Auror would do in public—and he didn't seem able to teach about the Patronus Charm in DADA and . . .

"Get back to your seat, girl."

A cheer exploded behind the fence and Dumbledore announced that Delacour's Somnolence Spell had done the trick and she had her egg, too.

"Our next Champion will be Viktor Krum of Durmstrang!"

Hermione didn't even notice she was staring until Moody sent a stinging hex that hit her on knee so that she fell into him. "Hey!"

He blinked, shook himself, and swore something under his breath before shouting, "Constant Vigilance, girl! What have I been telling you lot all year?"

She smelled something on his breath that wasn't alcohol, and she filed it away. She'd expected whisky—Firewhisky, they had here—or wine, maybe, but that's not what she'd scented on his heavy breath as he swore at her. Whatever it was, his breath smelled like something had died in his throat.

Disgusted and in pain, Hermione ignored her knee for the moment and decided she had to see Viktor face his challenge. Fred and George would be with their brother and, even if they got kicked out soon, they would have accomplished that much, anyway. She needed to heal her knee, but first she wanted to see Viktor.

She moved up the stands until she could see him in the arena. "Oh, no. A Chinese Fireball," she whispered. No one heard her; she was standing on a step and leaning against the wooden railing. "Be careful, Viktor!" she shouted.

He was studying the arena, his eyes on the dragon, but then she saw that Viktor took a quick visual perusal of the stands, as well. His schoolmates waved and cheered and he waved to them briefly, but he kept looking.

 _He's looking for me!_ she thought. Smiling, ignoring the burn of her hand, she waved her whole arm. " _Uspekh_ , Viktor!"

With a grin, he nodded and then, as the dragon lifted its scaly head, he focused all of his attention on it. She reviewed what she knew about the dragon, and wondered how Krum planned on getting the gleaming golden egg out from under it. A mother was fiercely protective! It seemed worse than ill-thought to have students—no matter how worthy of the name of Champion—facing off against nesting mother dragons. What were they thinking?

With his wand pointed at the dragon's head, Viktor shouted, " _Oculus Rubrum Draco_!"

Oh, the Fireball had a roar on her! She reared her head and, while she was up and unable to see as her eyes were visibly swollen shut, Viktor darted in to steal away the golden prize.

"Well done!" Hermione called as Viktor took off at a run for the gate.

The dragon, though, must have heard him because she thrashed her tail and extended her neck to thrash it about, too. Viktor was hit along the back of his leg, which made him fall heavily to his back. Still, he kept his hands on the egg! The crowd was now on their feet, Hermione amongst them, shouting for him to get up and get out.

The Fireball drew back her head and pulled in a huge breath. Hermione felt herself to be near tears, thinking that she'd be witness to a hellacious burning. But then, Viktor did something rather extraordinary.

He levitated himself!

"Merlin!" The cry exploded from the stands and the Durmstrangers were shouting it the loudest. "Krum! Krum! Krum!"

Somehow, Viktor got over the gate before falling heavily to the ground, still clutching the prize egg.

Dragon keepers flooded into the arena to heal the Chinese Fireball and Hermione ran back down the stairs to see if she could catch up with Viktor before he disappeared into the Healers' Tent.

* * *

"I'll b'fine, honest," Charlie was saying, his words a bit slurred. Fred suspected an overabundance of something in his pain potion. The fact that his chest and one shoulder were covered in thick leaves of aloe vera that oozed green slime onto a series of burns, and that the rest of Charlie's torso was covered by green-hued bandaging was something, Fred supposed, Charlie himself wasn't aware of.

George wanted to touch his brother for reassurance, but wasn't sure where he could put his hand. He moved and gripped Charlie's bare foot. "Right. Course you will, Charlie. And I bet the birds up in Romania will love the new marks, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. Birds like scars, lads. See the one on my forehead, there? Got one girl, named Rosamund, who kisses it every time she sees me." He nodded and winked.

Fred smiled. "Right then, Charlie. Good. We'll tell Mum you're fine, then."

"You do that. And hey, d'you see that silver cat?"

George laughed a little. "That, big brother, was a Patronus cast on our behalf."

"Patronus?" Charlie's woozy smile disappeared. "R'there D'ment'rs here? No one said—"

"No, not at all, Charlie. Our friend used it as a distraction."

"Frien'? You got a pow'rful frien', there, Fred. George." He blinked a little. "Which one?"

They laughed and shook their heads. "Both."

"Oh, fine, then."

"And yeah, she's smart, our Hermione."

"A girl, is it?" The twinkle reappeared in Charlie's blue eyes. "Wanna meet her."

"Maybe soon. We'll see. Get better, okay?"

A string of Bulgarian poured through the Healing Tent at that moment, making Charlie laugh with shallow breaths before he grimaced in pain. "Whoozat? From Durmstrang? Wait, who's're Champion? Name's on th'tip of m'tongue, see?"

And Charlie stuck out his tongue.

Fred laughed. "I swear, Charlie, I am so going to remind you of this when you're better."

"What's he saying, Charlie?" George exchanged a glance with Fred, wondering what had happened to Krum.

Charlie's eyes were now half-lidded and the twins realized that the healers had spiked the pain potion with a sleeping draught. "Summat about lettin' a girl in wi'him. T'leave her 'lone."

"That'd be Viktor Krum."

"And Hermione Granger."

"Sounds familiar," Charlie mumbled.

Fred sighed a bit. "Yeah. Go to sleep, Charlie. Look, we better go. Harry'll be up soon and we've money on him."

"Go, go. Don' tell Mum."

Before they left, Fred and George quickly Disillusioned themselves, which left Charlie sputtering before he passed out. George bet his twin was smiling as much as he was as they left Charlie's curtained area to find the still-voluble Bulgarian. The twins didn't dare speak, but they were wanting to see Hermione.

The interior of the tent was like Madam Pomfrey's Infirmary, more than it was like St. Mungo's, George decided as they crept through it, undetected. Cots surrounded by privacy screens, chairs here and there, and candles and bluebell flames that hung unsupported in midair to illuminate the various treatment areas. An open worktop along the rear of the tent held potions in bottles and phials, as well as bandaging and potted aloe vera plants.

George always knew that Herbology would stand him in good stead for something.

"What are you doing here, young lady?" A male healer's sharp tone jerked George's attention away from the worktable.

"I'm with him," Hermione stated in that flat, even tone she used when she was all about being Slytherin. Hearing it, George ground his teeth. He got it, yes. She and Krum had become, odd as it might seem, friends. And her friend had been wounded, apparently, during the First Task. Of course she'd be with him.

"George. Harry?" Fred's whisper had him nodding though he knew his brother wouldn't see it. He tapped Fred's arm and, holding hands like children, the twins left the Healers' Tent.

He just hated—hated—leaving Hermione behind. With Krum.

When they reached the stands, back amidst their fellow Gryffindors, they exchanged a glance with each other while the frightening Hungarian Horntail was led out into the arena. "She should be here," Fred said.

"He's her friend, too," was all George could manage in answer.

"You suppose, if it'd been us. . .?"

"Oh, yeah. She'd be there for us." The stated assurance, though only between them, made George's stomach feel slightly less tense.

Until a gasp rose from the rest of Gryffindor. "Shite, he doesn't know what to do!" Lee announced.

"Shut it!" Fred said, turning to smack their roommate on the leg. "What if he heard you?"

"Look, she's already furious. Duck, Harry!"

After darting toward the angry nesting dragon and then running back to hide behind boulders while flame left dark scores in the sand, Harry seemed to remember what he could do best—as Ron had suggested the day before. Harry Potter emerged from behind an angular boulder, wand stretched up into the sky. " _Accio_ Firebolt!" he shouted, his voice strong and commanding, though he was so young and looked so small in the arena.

"What?"

"His broom? Does he think he can, from here?"

"Merlin, I don't believe that guy . . . "

Hopeful, confused, derogatory—the remarks raced around the stands until, much to Fred's surprise anyway, a familiar Firebolt broom, the pride of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, came darting through the sky. Gasps, shouts, and curses accompanied it until it landed in Harry's waiting hand.

Then, the youngest player ever chosen to be a Seeker for Gryffindor proved his skill as he leapt upon his broom and flew in close to the Horntail, nabbing the golden egg and taking to the air before the dragon could even get another full head of steam.

"Har-ry! Har-ry! Har-ry!"

Fred and George waved their scarves in the crisp autumn air. "Wicked!"

Resolving to congratulate Harry later that day, the twins dashed from the stands once again to look for Hermione. "They've probably dosed Krum like they did Charlie," George opined as they jogged through the dispersing spectators.

"Yeah. We can walk back to the castle with her."

"Right!"

She was just emerging from the Healers' Tent when they got there. "Hermione!"

"Fred, George." She smiled a little at them. "How's your brother?"

That deflated them somewhat. Still, not to be deterred entirely, Fred went to Hermione's left and George flanked her on her right before they started to deliberately walk to the castle. "He's pretty burnt," Fred told her. "How's Krum?"

"His leg was dislocated, but they'll be able to get him back to the Infirmary soon. How will they handle your brother? I don't even know what the magical world does for such serious injuries."

"Well . . ." Fred began, daring to take her hand in his in his most casual manner as they walked. "Charlie's been hurt before, you know. Dragons, yeah?"

George took her other hand with an equally unstudied air. "They'll put him in stasis and Apparate him to the nearest healing facility."

"So, we might be seeing a lot of him for a bit?"

"Maybe!" They answered in unison, both pleased that she had used the word "we" in there.

"I wonder. I understand the golden eggs will be necessary for clues for the next task. I wonder if Charlie will be around to help?" George felt her hand tighten around his. "Not that I want him to be stuck here, understand. I only meant that it's always good to have an expert around, you know?"

"We know," Fred said, smiling over her head at George.

"We'll ask him," George assured her.

Then, the conversation turned to what kind of protection against dragonfire the dragon keepers had and if they could turn their ideas about Portable Magic to shielding against that danger. And if they could create a charm that might make a person light as a feather combined with a cushioning charm in case they fell off a dragon.

"Or a broom, during Quidditch," Hermione added.

"We never see you fly," George remarked as they were briefly surrounded by riotous Hufflepuffs running with Cedric back to the castle.

She frowned and sniffed loudly "I don't like it."

Fred laughed. "Sounds like a challenge to me!"

"Not until we can make a cushioning charm for that!"

They bounced around ideas for spells and application as well as how to access such a charm in an emergency until they reached Hogwarts proper.

All in all, a productive day.

* * *

A/N: It's taken me a while, but this chapter marks my induction into the "Over a Million Words" club. If there were such a thing. Heh. Thank you, everyone, for reading.:)


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three: Invitations

_**A/N:** So. A couple of questions many have asked are answered herein. When I noted this in _ Casting the Stake _, I killed a character. Please be advised: No character death happens in this chapter. I can be nice._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Three**

 ** _Hogwarts, 24 November 1994_**

"Professor Snape, I would like a word," Hermione said quietly on the evening after the First Task. She slid a glance toward Professor Moody as he sat at the head table, trying not to let her suspicions show on her face.

Her Head of House, though, was an observant man. One had to be, she knew, to be Head of Slytherin. He looked down his nose at her, thin lips in half a sneer, and asked, "Do you? Well, you know where I'll be after dinner, don't you?" He could not have sounded more bored.

That was all to the good. He had proved himself to be helpful in very, very subtle ways over the years. Providing books to teach her about self-defense, Dark Arts Defense, and powerful offensive hexes that she knew but rarely used unless she was practicing privately. "Why show all you know?" he had asked her years ago.

Why, indeed?

"I'll be there, Professor," she answered him across the table before returning briefly to her seat to bid good evening to her friends in Durmstrang.

"Is all well, Hermione?" Gretchen asked, buttering a dinner roll. Her blond hair was loose and hanging in a smooth curtain down her back. Hermione envied the German girl for her poise, pretty, peach-hued complexion, and even her hair. "You have been tense since the dragons."

"Do not worry about Viktor," Stasia told her with a warm light in her moss-green eyes. "His leg was healed and he is only staying on the ship because Karkaroff is trying to keep him from hurting himself for a few days until his muscles are strong once again."

Hermione felt heat work up her throat but she tried to suppress it. She had felt so afraid for him after his encounter with the dragon, and had been gratified and embarrassed when he had insisted she be allowed to be with him in the Healers' Tent. As if she mattered that much to him to disregard standing orders! Fred and George hadn't been allowed to see their brother and she had been permitted to stay with Viktor!

She had decided the exception was made because he was a Champion.

"That makes sense. Please tell him I hope he's doing well and that he'll be able to join us again in the Great Hall soon."

"I will."

Having neatly sidestepped the concern over her words with Professor Snape, Hermione judged it best to provide a new topic of conversation. "I am wanting to improve my dueling abilities. Might any of you have any tips for me or be willing to duel with me?"

There were a few moments of silence and, surprised by that, Hermione studied the different faces around her. Had she made a grand _faux pas_ in front of them? Was this not something one did in Europe?

Uncomfortable, she sipped at her tea to collect her thoughts. "I have been practicing dueling with my Housemates for years, providing an exchange in services such as study help, or with a bribe—" she said, trying to smile. "Though I'm not sure what I could do in exchange for your help. You are all older than I, and very magically accomplished."

Marko, who had been uncharacteristically quiet over their meal, cleared his throat. "Hehrmyoni, no exchange vould be necessary. Ve are happy to teach, you know?"

When the others all nodded with what appeared to be overplayed enthusiasm, she got the impression that they were sincere, but that there was something they weren't telling her, as well. Her "be cautious and polite" rule with them was still in place, however, so she just thanked them and offered a guarded smile. "I will bring my timetable in the morning and we can perhaps schedule a time?"

After this, she finished her dinner, ignored afters, and bid the others a good night. She had a meeting with her Head of House next.

Professor Snape was not one to enjoy dessert, so she knew he'd be in his office sooner rather than later. She was waiting for him, leaning against the wall opposite the Head of House door, with her wand lit by a _Lumos_ and a textbook open in front of her. She had used shields on things before, such as her Imperturbable, but she was wondering how to apply it to something that moved about, like a duelist.

"Miss Granger."

Cocking her head, she closed her book carefully and whispered, " _Nox_." Then, she took a quick breath. "Professor Snape. I have a question about my Defense class." She said this just in case anyone was lurking about the corridor, Disillusioned or otherwise in hiding.

"Come in, Miss Granger," he said, turning and entering his office with every sign of irritation. Once she was safely inside, he closed the door and perched on his desk, as was his custom. "Now, word has it you're doing well in Defense, even partnering with," he shuddered, "Gryffindors."

"Thank you, sir. My concern, though, is Professor Moody."

"Alastor Moody?" Professor Snape looked disgusted, as if she'd let him down in a large and undefined way.

It made her feel sick to her stomach, but she persevered, because something felt off about the disfigured professor. She held up one hand. "Sir. I know. Alastor Moody is a respected former Auror, asked by the Headmaster to teach us this year. I know this. But, something feels a bit wrong to me."

"Such as?" Professor Snape drawled, rising from his desk to attain his chair behind it. He didn't indicate she could be seated, so she remained on her feet.

"Well, for one thing, he didn't seem to know anything about conjuring a Patronus. He asked me to teach that in class, as if he hadn't any idea about what to say. And then when my Patronus appeared, it stalked him, sir. As if Professor Moody were _prey_."

"Did Alastor make any pithy remarks thereafter?"

"No, sir. He did hex me during a class duel, though."

"With what?"

She blushed. "Stinging hex, sir."

Her Head of House looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Well, it is an advanced course you're in, Miss Granger."

"Yes, sir. I know. But also, sir, he's always, well, _drinking_. From that flask. I've been watching him for a while, now, and he doesn't empty it, ever, but he sips from it at intervals. Even during the First Task today."

Professor Snape leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "I know you're young, Miss Granger, but surely you can extend some sympathy to a man who finds comfort in drink. Even while he's supposed to be working."

"He also hexed Malfoy," she reminded him. "Can't you, perhaps, check that flask he's drinking? His breath didn't smell like _alcohol_ , sir. Maybe it's something . . . else?"

The Potions Master paused and stared hard at her. "What _did_ it smell like, Miss Granger?"

She tried hard not to show her distaste of the question. "Like something died in his mouth, sir. It was very unpleasant."

One ink-black brow angled in thought. "That doesn't tell me much, Miss Granger."

"Sorry, sir."

"I cannot simply demand to be informed as to the contents of a personal item, Miss Granger. I would need evidence that I, not the Headmaster—whom I do not recommend you approach, as he and Alastor have been friends for a long time—could use to examine said contents."

She grimaced, not sure what to do to find evidence. "I'll try to figure that out, sir."

Her Head of House regarded her with something she might almost call gentleness for a moment. "Alastor Moody survived in a dangerous position for a long time, Miss Granger. I have no idea why your Patronus would find him interesting, so there's little I can say to that. Still, I grant you that suspicions held by a rational person should not be summarily disregarded. I will not speak to him about his treatment of you; he'll grow defensive. I will, however, seek to discover what he's drinking."

Hope thudded in her chest and she nodded her thanks.

"If it _is_ Firewhisky or some other like beverage, however, I expect you to abandon your suspicions entirely. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

* * *

 ** _9 December 1994_**

The twins sat knee to knee in the Gryffindor common room on one of the squishy sofas after they were released from Transfiguration that morning, torsos bending so that their red heads nearly touched.

"A Yule Ball," George whispered.

"We've got to ask her," Fred declared, blowing a hank of fringe out of his eyes to look at his twin. "You don't think that'll _scare_ her, right?" He asked this with some sarcasm, due to George's constant harping on that notion.

"No, no it won't. I mean, it's a ball, held here, and she wouldn't feel threatened or anything to go to it." He blew out a long breath and flexed his hands where they fell between his knees. "But. How do we ask her?"

"Oi, Granger, want to go to the Yule Ball?" Fred smiled and took a quick look around. There weren't many students in the common room at that time; most of them had a mess of classes. He and George were pretty lucky, in that regard.

His brother leaned back just a tad. "With who? That's what she'd say."

"Why, with us, you git," Fred retorted, frowning. "Who do you think?"

With an overblown look of tried patience on his face, George sighed. "She's a Muggle-born, remember? Do they even have twins who, who are with one partner? Who share? Two on one, like you said once?"

Understanding sent a cold feeling over Fred's skin. Keeping his voice very quiet, he said, "You're right. Well, we could give her those notes I wrote from that book. About twins and identical magic and relationships."

"Can't believe we didn't do that, yet."

Fred rolled his eyes. "I blame you and the whole _Let's Not Scare Hermione_ thing."

"Fair enough. But."

"Yeah. But." Picturing different scenarios, Fred picked one. "We could have you ask her? And then I'd dance with her, too, and we'd see how she handles that?"

"But what if she likes you more?" his twin whispered. Fred met George's anxious look with his own as his brother continued. "She's our friend, sure, but what if she prefers you and says no to me? Or what if she thinks only one of us wants to be with her?"

"Bloody hell. Yeah. No. Can't have that."

"No."

"We could just both of us ask her," Fred said after a minute spent in silence. "Like, I could ask her and you could ask her."

"At the same time?"

"Well, sure, because otherwise it'd be like that other option, wouldn't it? Where she wouldn't know _both_ of us want to be with her."

"Or," George ventured slowly, "we could just write a formal invitation out and send it by owl, with both of us asking for both of us and asking for her to respond. Her Boudicca doesn't get a lot of exercise this time of year, right?"

The fire crackled in the enormous Gryffindor hearth while they thought this option through. Finally, Fred shook his head. "Something like this, we should do in person. Besides, I'd want to see her eyes."

"So would I."

"We have to say it just right, you know."

They caught one another's gazes and laughed lightly. "You know!"

"You know!"

Red-faced from their own private, naughty amusement, they decided to practice asking each other to make sure it sounded right before they approached Hermione Granger, the girl of their dreams.

* * *

Hermione approached the Slytherin table for lunch, her mind on ways to get Professor Moody's flask away from him for long enough to pour some of its contents into a phial for testing purposes. She considered trying the _Geminio_ charm, but only if she could get him distracted at the right time. Whom did she know that could do that without inviting suspicion upon herself?

She glanced across the room to see George and Fred, who were at that time looking at her. With a smile, she almost beckoned to them to join her, but something about a brief glance they exchanged kept her from doing so. They appeared uncomfortable. _It has_ , she reminded herself, _only been a matter of weeks since they came out as friends with a Slytherin_. Still, she nodded before seating herself, only then noticing the expectant expressions around her.

"All right, what is it?" she asked in English. Overall, the students were becoming more proficient in her tongue (aside from Oliver, who was English) the longer they were here, just as her French had become more fluid and her Bulgarian was improving.

Stasia just smiled and shook her head. Roland wiggled his eyebrows expressively, but the Frenchman said nothing. She turned to Oliver with a cocked brow of her own. "Well?"

"Not for me to say, Hermione," he stated, his gray eyes twinkling under dark hair. His look shifted to Viktor who still sat beside Hermione at almost every meal.

Lunch being an informal affair, there were no announcements before the food appeared before them, so when she was distracted by pork schnitzel with tomato and basil sauce along with broccoli and buttered bread, she didn't follow up on Viktor's somewhat nervous smile.

But, after she had finished eating, she noticed he had only partly cleaned off his own plate. "Are you feeling well?" she asked him quietly in her halting Bulgarian.

"Yes, I am, Hehrmyoni." He frowned for a moment before making a wry face at something she could only accept not knowing before he asked, "Take a walk with me?" Marko made some kind of coughing sound and Viktor glared at him.

Hermione intervened. "Give me a moment to get my cloak, if we're going outside."

"No! I mean, you can use mine, see?" Viktor stood and, with a rather dramatic flourish, swept his cloak out from whatever disillusionment it had been under.

"Impressive, Mr. Krum," she acknowledged with a nod. Marko made another garbled coughing sound and Viktor flipped him a gesture that she was sure was rude.

Then, he moved back a little to allow her room to stand. "So, ve go?"

"Sure!"

Aware of each pair of eyes on her, especially two pairs of warm brown eyes across the Great Hall, Hermione left at Viktor's side. He escorted her into the Entrance Hall and out into the cold afternoon. A light snow was skirling through the gray skies.

Viktor swirled his cape around her. "Not cold?"

"Not at all," she assured him, bemused and again impressed when her breath didn't come out white. "Did you cast a warming charm? Nonverbally?"

She saw him duck his head before he gazed off into the heavy sky. "I did." Offering her his arm, he cleared his throat. "So. I will speak in French because it is easiest for us both to understand."

A flurry of nerves gathered in her middle and under her skin. Over the thudding of her heart, she said, "Thank you. Is everything all right?"

He began walking slowly down the broad path that led from the main doors. She had no sense that he had any destination in mind, which suited her. His words, though, were more definitive. "Yes! All is well. Very much so. It's just, well. Did you hear about the dance that will be happening on Christmas night?"

"No?" At his look of surprise, she clarified. "Normally, students in my year have only one class on Friday. I have that same class with the sixth years on Monday morning, so I had no classes today. I spent this morning revising for exams and working on, er, projects."

"Ah." He cleared his throat again. "Well. There will be a dance. And all of the Champions must attend and open the dance. You are familiar with this custom?"

"Dancing? Of course."

He smiled gently down at her and shifted to English. "Vould you do me the honor of coming vith me? To the Yule Ball on Christmas?"

She felt herself stumble and he caught her, spinning her to hold her shoulders carefully under his broad palms. "You'd like me to go with you? As your, as your date?" Her mind dashed off in five different directions at once. _One_ , was that she would be wearing the lovely gown she and her mother had bought in France. _Two_ , she was being asked out on her very first date! _Three_ , she'd have to write her mum and dad and let them know that plans for the winter holiday would be changing. _Four_ , she hoped she wouldn't embarrass him. _Lastly_ , though, her mind went to George and Fred, who had looked at her so uncomfortably. They must have known about the Yule Ball, too. Maybe she had made them nervous, looking at them? As if she were expecting something, perhaps?

"Vell?" Viktor asked, sounding uncertain.

She shook her head and smiled as brightly as she knew how. "Yes! Thank you so much for asking me, Viktor. I would love to go to the Yule Ball with you."

His smile was broad and happy. "Oh, good."

She eyed him with the lifted brow she had learned from her Head of House. "Is that what everyone was smiling about at lunch?"

He affected a playful, innocent look that she had to smile at. "Vhat? I saw nothing."

Turning, he held out his arm to her. She took it, feeling very much like Elizabeth Bennet in _Pride and Prejudice_ walking with—

With Colonel Fitzwilliam. Not with Mr. Darcy.

 _Why not the hero?_ she wondered internally. _Maybe it's the uniform_. Besides, it wasn't as if Viktor were declaring undying love or anything for her. He had asked her to accompany him to a school dance, where he would have to be. Asking her, a girl he knew and was friends with at the host school, was probably just good manners.

"So, have you figured out what kind of clue the egg has for the Second Task?" she asked as they reached the Entrance Hall.

He shook his head. "Not yet. But I vill."

* * *

 ** _12 December 1994_**

When Hermione emerged into the common room of her House on the Monday morning following the announcement of the Yule Ball, she made sure her personal shields were in place and her wand was at the ready. The weekend had been rife with slurs and suppositions, and she didn't expect them to die down without a fight.

The attack, went it came, wasn't magical in nature to begin with. It was physical.

"When. Will. You. Learn?"

She had been pushed by one girl and tripped by two others, who were now sitting on her back. A quickly muttered spell and touch of a wand had her sight going totally black so she had no real idea about who was doing this. All she knew for sure was that the voice had been low and cultured. It was likely not one of her roommates, whose voices she knew far too well.

Bugger! There were at least three of them. She still had her wand. All right, then.

Unable to see, she could still cast if she focused her attention properly. With her mind on one of the girls on her back, she flickered her wand in the appropriate manner.

Before they could stop her, she had called, " _Stupefy_!" And one girl fell off and Hermione was able to roll away.

Still blinded, she cast, " _Protego_!" followed by a quick " _Finite Incantatem_ " with her wand pointed at her own eyes.

It worked! Anger and relief surged through her as she whirled to face her antagonists. Only one remained on the floor of the common room, though. The other students had cleared out, along with everyone who wasn't stunned at the moment.

"Andrea Atherton." She approached the seventh year pure-blood brunette with the currently half-shuttered eyes. "I could just leave you like this. Here. Alone. Unable to move. You did it to me when I was only eleven, remember? I am a Muggle-born and proud to be so. We have a saying. What goes around, comes around. For some, it's part of their faith. Karma. For me, it's just a way the world seems to work."

In the dark blue eyes that she could only partly see, Hermione detected alarm. Good.

"I've got double Defense this morning. It might not be very kind of me to leave you here. Someone should take care of you, though, so you don't soil yourself." She stood and moved away toward the door that would lead to the Great Hall. " _Finite_ ," she whispered.

Atherton didn't even say thank you, nor did she meet her eyes over breakfast that morning.

She arrived at her Defense class at the same time as Fred and George. They hadn't sought her out over the weekend, which had bothered her, but then so had that odd look she'd intercepted on Friday at lunch. So, when she saw them again, her mind sharpened as she tried to study the minutiae of their facial expressions.

Fred tried to smile, but it never reached his eyes. "Hey, Hermione." He sounded so unlike himself that she frowned.

"What's the matter?"

They exchanged a look and ushered her into the classroom. Moody wasn't there, yet—something she had decided to talk to the twins about—so she drew George and Fred aside. "Look, I don't know what it is, but something's been bothering you since Friday."

George fumbled with his school bag whilst Fred regarded her with some anxiety. "Right. Friday. See, did you hear about the Yule Ball? We know you don't have any classes on Friday."

She nodded. "Yes, I did hear about it at lunch that day."

Gripping a couple of sheets of parchment, George met her gaze. "Right. Good. So. This is the thing."

"We were wondering," Fred began.

"If you'd like to go to the ball—"

"With us," they said in unison. George nodded and looked unutterably relaxed once they'd asked her.

And she felt her stomach clench and her heart hurt because— "With, with _both_ of you?" That was a possibility she hadn't considered to be an option.

The others in their class were coming, and she could hear some references to the Yule Ball amidst the other chatter. Fred cast his gaze over the room before focusing on her once again. "Yeah. Er, we did some research, see."

"Because magical identical twins often find themselves ma-"

" _Dating_ the same person at the same time."

"I, I didn't know that happened here," she confessed quietly.

"So, you're not opposed to the idea?" Fred asked, his brow lightly furrowed though his smile was returning. Which she appreciated; the twins looked much more themselves when they were smiling.

Still, she was going to have to turn them down and it gave her a major wrenching. "No, not at all. But. But I've already got a date, you see. I—I didn't know the two of you would be asking, and . . ."

George and Fred stiffened, their shoulders going straight as if they were facing off in a nasty duel. "Who?" George asked flatly.

She met his eyes. "Viktor Krum."

The two nodded in tandem. "Ah. Well, then. We saw him with you at lunch, but—"

"We were discussing the Second Task, too," she told them. "And, I've been working with other students from Durmstrang, testing out applied shielding for Portable Magic."

If she had hoped to reinstate their playful demeanor, she had missed the mark. Still, they nodded. "Well, good. We can meet to talk about it, yeah?"

Surprise at their formality made her feel a bit queasy in her middle. "I, I hope so. I missed you this past weekend."

George eased her mind somewhat by slowly reaching to tug on a curl of her hair. "So, would you have said yes if we'd asked first?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "And, and I'd still like to dance with you, if you, if you find yourselves there."

"Really?" Fred asked. "Dunno if we've ever done any ballroom dancing."

"Oh, McGonagall said we can learn. She'll be giving lessons."

Hermione opened her mouth to comment on that when the door from Moody's office banged open like a lightning strike. "Enough chatter! Constant Vigilance!" He aimed his wand at her and the twins and, without thinking, Hermione cast a silent _Protego_.

Their Defense professor smirked—a truly odd expression on his misshapen face—and Hermione remembered something she wanted to work out with the twins. "So, may I sit with one of you today? Even so?"

Fred bowed elaborately and walked her to her table whilst George went to the back to sit behind Angelina and Alicia. "So you'll save us a dance, yeah?" Fred whispered.

"Both of you. Absolutely."

"Excellent."

* * *

 _A/N: Questions that have been asked include: "Will the twins man up enough to ask her to the Yule Ball?" and "Will she still go to the Yule Ball with Viktor?" and "Will the twins be jealous?" ... I think those are basically the biggies, paraphrased. :)_


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four: The Yule Ball

_**A/N** : My thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! It's lovely to be able to interact with you. :) And now, for the event many of you have been waiting for..._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Four: The Yule Ball**

 ** _Hogwarts, 25 December 1994_**

"Now, smile!" Colin Creevey, a Muggle-born of Gryffindor who had taken to wizarding photography like a fish to water, was grinning near the Gryffindor common room hearth. "Your mum and dad will want to see all their children dressed up for the ball, you know!"

Fred threw an arm across George's shoulders. Ron stood on George's other side. Ginny stood in front of all of them. Fred and George were both wearing black dress robes, with white dress shirts. Fred's waistcoast was a brown shade, George's was green. Both had chosen unconventional ties that matched the robes. They had worked hard at their transfiguration spells, having inherited dress robes from Bill and Charlie years ago. When Ron had seen how fixed their transfigurations were, he had actually gone on his knees and begged for them to fix his dress robes.

"To be fair," George had remarked, "Mum gave him the last set. And they're ghastly."

So the twins had put their heads together to improve Ron's robes on a permanent basis. First, they'd made them black. That wasn't too hard, really. And then they'd taken off all the lace. That enough had made Ron so happy he'd almost promised them his desserts for a week.

Almost.

They'd transfigured the lace to a cravat and called it done. "Mind, you owe us," Fred had told their brother.

On the night of the Yule Ball, though, they didn't have the heart to tease him. He looked so miserable. Fleur Delacour had turned him down flat in front of a large audience and he was going to the ball with one of the Patil sisters. Padma, Fred thought. The one from Ravenclaw. Parvati was in their house and Harry was taking her.

"Okay, now with your dates!" Colin called next, moving behind a sofa to get a better perspective.

Fred smiled at Angelina, their Quidditch Team Captain, who had consented to go with him. "You owe me," she said with a smile.

"I know it." He didn't know what she might ask, in the end, but he'd pay up if he could.

George's date was Alicia Spinnet, with whom he and Fred had often partnered over the years in Defense. This year, they'd split their time with Hermione, but both Angelina and Alicia had seemed to take that in stride. "I'm not going to make her mad," had been their Captain's rationale. "That girl almost took out the Durmstrang Champion in a duel."

Ginny was able to attend the Yule Ball purely because she had been asked by Neville Longbottom. A nice chap, Neville, and Fred wasn't even remotely worried about his sister's virtue whilst she was with him. Neville was certainly well turned out for the evening. White tie and fine dress robes and all. The Longbottoms knew how to do the thing up right.

"Great! Thanks!" Colin was all but dancing his way across the common room to get more photographs.

"Where's Harry?" Ginny asked, checking the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

Ron shrugged. "He and the other Champions are leading off everything, so they're all somewhere getting lined up, I guess."

Fred offered Angelina his arm, glaring at Ron until he did the same for his date. "Ready?"

"Let's go!" his date said.

"You look really nice," Fred told her, smiling down into her eyes. She was wearing velvet. Purple, with tiny straps over her shoulders. Her hair was down but back from her face.

"Thank you," she said with an eye-roll. "You look smart yourself."

He tossed his head back. "Well, you know, it's the hair."

She snorted. "Of course it is."

The ball was being held in the Great Hall, unsurprisingly, and it had been entirely redecorated. "Cor, Gred," George murmured. "Look at all of this."

It was a winter landscape, filled with ice and pine, but it wasn't remotely chilly. Illusion had to have transformed everything, George figured. It was amazing. Arches of ice soared overhead. Columns of crystal lined the walls. Snowy pine trees were clustered here and there along the perimeter. Tables fit in, too, leaving a white floor for the business of the ball. Dancing.

"I do expect to dance, Weasley," Angelina informed George in a low voice as they moved through the crowd of students toward a table that would accommodate the four of them plus anyone else who might join them later.

"I do expect I'll be dancing as well, Johnson," Fred returned with a smile. "It is a ball, after all."

"Promise me that if you and George trade off, you'll let us know?"

"Aw, taking all our fun!" Fred protested with a grin.

Having heard this, George turned with Alicia to take part in the conversation. "We're good at trading places."

"Done it all our lives."

"We tend to share, you know." That both twins said this with prodigious eyebrow wiggling made them laugh while their dates just shook their heads.

"May I have your attention!" Dumbledore's amplified voice carried throughout the Hall. "It is time for our Champions to lead us off this evening. And here they are." As he called the Champion's name, he also named their date, so George knew they wouldn't miss Hermione when she entered.

"Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons and Roger Davies of Hogwarts. Viktor Krum of Durmstrang and Hermione Granger of Hogwarts. Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts and Cho Chang, also of Hogwarts. And finally, Harry Potter of Hogwarts and Parvati Patil, also of Hogwarts. These couples will now start the dancing for us with a waltz."

Now, George knew it was bad form to stare at one girl whilst on a date with another. Not that he and Fred had dated 'round or anything, but a man knew these things from listening to his brothers, didn't he? After all, Bill and Charlie had definitely dated around. (Percy, not so much, but Percy was an odd duck.) Still, bad form or not, George couldn't manage _not_ to stare at Hermione Granger.

They thought she was pretty, he and Fred. They did. She had cinnamon brown eyes and untamed hair that they both thought was really sexy. That she did certain unmentionable-in-public things to them—all unknown to her, but still—when she faced them down for any reason only contributed to her many charms. She made a neat, feminine figure in her school uniform, but she hadn't really made the most of it, they knew. And they'd seen her in her swimming outfit from those vacation pictures, too. All. That. Skin.

So, they knew Hermione was pretty. But. They had never seen her when she was trying to look pretty, not in person, and they knew that tonight? For the Yule Ball? She really had.

Her dress was green, next to Drum's crimson, so they looked like a perfect Christmas couple. Which was kind of nauseating, but there it was. The green dress was long, all the way to the floor, with a bit of a train behind it, even. No sleeves, but the front went up to her shoulders and collar bone. She didn't have any jewelry on save for a pair of diamond earrings. Tiny ones. Her hair was up in some kind of thick braid-crown-thing with silver flowers woven into it. He hadn't a clue, but thought it was perfect.

She looked innocent and beautiful and it made George dither between wanting to admire her and wanting to be jealous of Krum.

And then, she walked further on and he saw the back of her dress. And his mouth went dry. The back of the dress was open, save for two bands of the same Slytherin green fabric that the rest of the dress was made from, but those bands were _loose_. Like they'd just drape right off of her and leave _all that skin_ … In. Person.

And she'd be waltzing with Krum. International Quidditch Star and Triwizard Champion.

Damn.

"Eyes back in your head, Weasley," Alicia whispered.

Embarrassed, George felt himself blush but he smiled at his date. She'd been sweet enough not to give him a hard time for asking after Hermione'd turned them down right in front of their DADA class. "Sorry."

"No, I get it. She looks amazing, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, she really does."

Alicia laughed lightly and punched him in the arm. Just a little. "Well, she didn't wait for the Wonderful Weasley Boys to ask her, so she'll just have to settle, won't she?"

Angelina chuckled. "Enough, Alicia. You'll give these boys bigger heads than they already have."

"Oi! Our heads aren't so big."

"Not so's you'd notice, anyway."

"Of course, we don't measure them often, do we?"

"No! We leave that to the ladies!"

* * *

"Oh!" Hermione gasped as Viktor lifted her through a turn on the dance floor.

He grinned as he set her gently back on her feet and guided her expertly through the swirling dancers that surrounded them. She drew nearer to him and inhaled deeply, catching the scents of sandalwood and bergamot over leather. Masculine, but not overwhelming. "You dance vell," he told her.

"I have a good partner," she said with a smile.

"Look, here comes another one, if it is good vith you?" Viktor's brows rose and she followed his gaze to see Marko approach them.

"May I cut in?" the other young man asked with a slight bow.

After a pause, Hermione bobbed in half a curtsey. "Of course." She had, after all, danced with a few boys that evening. All the Champions had taken turns with one another's partners during the second dance of the evening, and after the sumptuous dinner, there had been still more dancing. Sometimes, she danced with Viktor, while the Weird Sisters played for their enjoyment. Other times, with other guys.

Marko, of course, was a friend and she was comfortable enough when he spun her about. "What do you usually do for Christmas?" she asked him after their dance.

"Spend the day vith family and friends. Ve sometimes play Qvidditch if it is not snowing."

She laughed and shook her head. "You boys and your Quidditch."

He brought her to her chair, but Viktor hadn't returned from his dance, yet. "Ve all know you do not like the game, Hehrmyoni."

They shared a smile but didn't converse any more while she got her breath back. She was just about to see about getting some of the punch on one of the side tables when George Weasley appeared in front of her.

He bowed quite formally before presenting her with a cup of punch. "Miss Granger. Would you do me the honor of the next dance? You know, after you refresh yourself."

"Very, how you say, smooth?" Marko said with a smile. "I vill leave you in good hands then, Hehrmyoni."

"Thank you for the dance, Marko." She accepted the cup of golden, bubbly punch and invited George to sit next to her. "This was perfect," she told him after taking a grateful sip. "Do you read minds, too?"

"Only if you want to think it makes me more intelligent," he replied with a twinkle in his eye. Then, he leaned forward a bit, but turned to meet her eye as she had another sip. "So. You look brilliant tonight."

It wasn't his words, but the way he said them that sent the blush to her cheeks, she was fairly certain. "You look quite nice, yourself."

He made quite an issue out of preening for her, which made her laugh. And that made him stop preening and start staring at her. Which, in turn, made her stop laughing.

"You know," he began slowly while he sat back and all but rubbed shoulders with her. "I feel we've let you down, Fred and me."

"No! Why?"

"You don't laugh nearly enough. Here we are, greatest pranksters Hogwarts has seen since the Marauders, and we can't get our girl to laugh."

She was reminded instantly of the pages of notes he had given her weeks ago that day in Defense when she'd had to turn down their invitation to the Ball.

 _Magical identical twins are unique because they share a magical core. They shared one at birth and it will always keep them tied close to one another. For us,_ (the twin had written) _it extends to our wands. Our wands are brothers, meaning that they've got the same core and are made from the same wood._

 _In the magical world, then, it can happen that identical twins will find one person who they are attracted to. Our uncles, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, were identical twins and they had one girlfriend. Our eldest brother, Bill, remembers her. They were all killed in the war, though, or we'd have references._

 _It's difficult, being a magical identical twin, because of this shared core. Our feelings aren't always private from one another. We feel like something's missing when we're apart from each other for too long._

 _And, of course, we found ourselves interested in the same girl. Who was not raised in our world. So we don't know if this would even work with her, you know? Maybe you could help us out?_

"Your girl, eh?" she asked, finding all her reserves were necessary to keep her eyes steady on George's face. His gaze faltered and she quickly extended her hand to him. "I did read your notes, you know," she said, doing her best to keep her voice low. "I'm just sorry I didn't get them earlier."

His skin pinked all the way to his ears and he rubbed at the back of his neck. "As to that, yeah. Our fault. My fault, really."

Hermione reminded herself that George and Fred were Gryffindors. Her House mocked theirs because they wore their feelings on their faces, their hearts on their sleeves. They were rash and reckless. If they hadn't been, regarding those notes, that meant something. "You were being _cautious_?" she asked.

"That's a good turn on it, yeah," he said with half a laugh. "So, oh, hey, Krum." George stood, hand out to shake Viktor's. "I came to ask Hermione to dance, and then we fell to talking."

"This is understandable," Viktor said with a sharp smile. "Hehrmyoni?"

"I'd still like that dance, Viktor. If you won't be inconvenienced."

"No. Just come back to me, yes?"

"We'll bring her back, Krum. No worries," George assured him in his friendly way. Then he set her cup aside and led her to the floor.

"Should I worry about my toes?" she inquired archly, suppressing a smile as George whirled her in a wide arc.

He laughed. "No, no. McGonagall made sure we were not bumbling baboons, or whatever it was she said. She made sure we all had lessons. Didn't your House?"

"Professor Snape is not given to dancing, but Professor Sinistra gave lessons for those who needed them."

"Did you?"

She arched a brow at him. "No. I've been taking dancing lessons since I was three years old. Even Muggles learn how to dance, you know."

He ducked his head, clearly embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Just taking the mickey."

With a gasp, he met her eye. "Really? You, Hermione Granger, taking the mickey?"

With an innocent expression, she did her best eye-fluttering for him. She might not be a flirtatious person by nature, but she had good powers of observation. Then, when he appeared to be really discomfited by that, she had to laugh a little. "Really, George. You're just too easy."

"May I cut in?"

"Fred!"

"Gred!" George spun her off into his twin's arms and Hermione could only admire how smoothly they accomplished the transition. "Thank you for the dance, Miss Granger," George called over the music before he loped off, presumably to find his partner.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said with a tolerant smile. "Nicely done, I must say."

"Good evening, Miss Granger." He pulled her in closer to his body for just a few steps before relinquishing his hold to something more socially acceptable. She blushed, but recovered as his expression because quite serious. "So. You were talking to my brother, weren't you?"

"As anyone here could have seen, yes. Nothing untoward, I assure you."

"Ah, too bad!"

"Honestly, Fred."

He guided her expertly to the outer edge of the dancers, but didn't take her from the floor entirely. She had to wonder what he thought he was doing. He told her. "Did you read the notes we gave you?"

Oh, so _that_ was what he was after. Well, she remembered again that they were lions and did her best. "I did. I was surprised, of course. As I told George, I wish I'd had those notes earlier."

"You do?"

"Yes." She could be direct if she had to. When dealing with Gryffindors, it was sometimes best, apparently.

"Well, since you have them now, we were wondering if you'd be willing to spend New Year's Eve with both of us."

That was blunt talk indeed, but she appreciated it if only because she didn't have to peer around corners to make it make sense. Much. "A date?"

"A _bona fide_ date."

"With both of you?"

"At the same time, even."

She smoothed out her expression as he moved them carefully around the floor. It was in front of her in a direct kind of way. She was fifteen years old and was being asked to be part of a triad.

Merlin!

Still, it was something she hadn't even known was an option last month, and she had to admit she liked the idea in principle . . . naughty as that made her feel, she was not blind to her own wishes.

"Fred, I—"

"Wait. Don't say no, yet. Just hear me out, all right? George is always worrying that we'll scare you off if we say anything, but he's not here and someone has to do this."

She had to laugh at the exasperated look on his face. He stopped his diatribe and stared at her. "You don't do that nearly enough. Laugh, I mean."

"So I've been told."

"Have you been told you look beautiful tonight?" His hand, which had been dutifully settled at the small of her back, spread out a little so she could feel the tips of his fingers against the bare skin revealed by her dress. "Because you really, really do."

"Thank you," she whispered, shocked at how such a small touch was affecting her.

"So. New Year's Eve? We're, we're not expecting anything. Just a kiss at midnight," he assured her with a wistful light in his eye that belied the playful curl of his voice.

"Can we, can we talk about, about _this_?"

"Of course. We reckoned we would if you were agreeable and all. And hey," he went on, stopping abruptly to dip her in a move that had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the happiness she could see on his face, "we've dueled with you. You can take us two-on-one no problem, so you're safe."

She was innocent of many things, true, but that bit of byplay was finally understood and she felt blood suffuse her skin from her throat up. "Er, yes. I'll make sure to bring my wand, then."

The music ended and the band announced a break, so Fred offered his arm to her to walk her back to the head table, where she was sitting with Viktor. "So, have you heard anything about the egg clue?"

"Not much, no. You?" Professor Snape was standing next to Professor Moody between two pine trees near her destination and she hoped he was trying to get Moody's flask!

"Harry opened it when we were near and the screeching of it was terrible. Almost enough to make a man want to pitch it into the Black Lake, you know?"

Her half-thoughts on the professors were halted and even her steps stopped short of the head table. "What? What did you say?"

Looking confused, Fred still seemed about to answer just as Viktor hurried to them, his aspect fierce. "Hehrmyoni? Are you all right?"

"Yes. Just talking about the next clue with Fred Weasley, here."

Viktor's facial muscles relaxed and he nodded. "Yes. It is very loud."

Fred looked to Viktor. "I was telling her it screeched something awful. High pitched. And that it made a man want to throw it in Black Lake." He glanced to Hermione. "Which is where you stopped walking and looked like someone hit you with a Bludger."

"Right. Screeching. High pitched. Water. I was just thinking of a high pitched sound that sounds different somewhere else. Like in a lake or sea. Dolphins and whales, Fred. Viktor, have you heard whalesong?"

"Vhat? Vhales sing?"

"Blimey! Yes!" Fred's whole face lit up. "We've got to get those eggs to the Black Lake, then!"

Hermione shook her head. "Fred. It's December. Where else is there a big pool of water around Hogwarts? One that isn't icy cold?"

"Is not that bad." Viktor frowned in thought. "I could put egg into vater."

"But do you want to go _swimming_ at this time of year to hear what it might say underwater?" Hermione tried not to roll her eyes.

Fred's mouth made a big O. "The Prefect's bath!"

"Right."

"And Diggory's a Prefect! We've gotta tell Harry."

* * *

"My vriends tell me you are a fast learner vith dueling," Viktor remarked between a couple of fast dances as the evening wound to a close.

"Your friends are very kind," Hermione replied. "They've been helpful and I feel they're all wonderful teachers."

"You are also good teacher. I vill try the egg in the big lake soon. Tomorrow, perhaps."

She shook her head. "Don't. It's so cold, Viktor."

He offered her an elevated smile. "You not hear of varming charms?"

Embarrassed, she blushed. "Sorry. Of course. I hadn't thought."

"Is okay. You are still very smart vitch." He laughed and drew her aside, through the milling dancers, keeping his hand at a very proper position on her lower back. She wondered if he would move it higher, or spread out his fingers as Fred had done, so she could feel his skin on hers, but . . . he didn't.

Which, really, was for the best, she admonished herself. Really. Her English wizards were a year and a half older than she was; Viktor Krum was at least two and possibly as many as three years older. That, and the whole European background thing, was all a bit intimidating, even if she never admitted it to anyone.

"So, smart vitch," he said once he had separated them from the majority of the ball-goers. They were nearer to the Slytherin dungeons than any other place, and it was quiet, if not hidden. "Vill you help me vith the egg clue?"

"Pardon?"

"Help me. Come listen to egg if it makes sounds that are a language under the vater."

"Well, yes, but when? I am going home tomorrow for the rest of the holiday."

"It vill vait, I am thinking. Next task is not until _fevruari."_

"All right. If you need me then, I'll help."

"Good."

They stood quietly together, and she found herself leaning against the thick stone wall of the castle. Her feet were tired; she was only wearing kitten heels, but all that dancing was exhausting. After a few moments, Viktor began looking a bit restless. "Is everything okay?" she wondered in barely a whisper.

" _Da_. I just am not ready to have the dance finish."

She smiled up at him, as he was leaning next to her, both of them facing an arch in a wall that led to the dancing. "It has been lovely, Viktor. Thank you for asking me."

"Thank you for coming." He turned, then, and took one of her hands in his. It was an intimate gesture, perhaps, but they had been dancing together most of the night and he was her friend, so she didn't feel uncomfortable. He studied her hand and she studied him. The way his chest seemed to move in and out with erratic breaths. The way he'd open his mouth and close it right away. The way he darted a few careful glances about their little space. Finally, he nodded as if to himself. "May I kiss you goodnight?"

"Of, of course. Yes." Inside, she was dancing and shouting, _My first kiss! I'll have to tell Mum!_ And immediately, even as Viktor moved between her and the dancing beyond them, she thought, _Oh, no! I've never done this before. I'm going to fail miserably and he'll hate me and—_

But then, he tilted her chin up with a warm finger that trembled just a bit and her nerves dissipated. She could do this. He would begin and she would follow, right? Her heart pounded and she flicked her tongue lightly over suddenly dry lips and then, his lips touched hers. She resolved to put all thoughts of kissing George and Fred at midnight on New Year's Eve away for now. It was only Viktor and her first kiss and—

And nothing.

He moved back, his face bemused and eyes crinkled with a smile. "Vait. I haff been nervous about this."

She blushed. "I'm nervous, too."

He nodded decisively. "Let us try again."

With her explicit agreement, he cupped her face with both his hands, his determined focus still amused and affectionate as he lowered his head to hers. She closed her eyes and felt his lips slant first one way, then another, and it wasn't bad or unpleasant; it just wasn't . . . anything.

This time, she moved away a little, though not out of his hands. "I'm so sorry. I've never done this and I'm afraid I've disappointed you and—" Where was her Slytherin mask? Her poise? Her determination to succeed? Hermione didn't know. All she knew was that she had managed to ruin her first kiss and it had to be all _her_ fault because _he_ was Viktor Krum.

But the international Quidditch star and all-around nice young man shook his head fondly at her. "No. You cannot disappoint. Not ever. Is just, different." He switched to French, as his fluency was still greater in that language. "You are a very pretty girl, Hehrmyoni. And I like you. But when I kiss a girl I like, there is usually a, a fire, you know?"

"Ah. So no chemistry?" She said that word in English.

" _Khimiya_?" he said in his native tongue. "Is that how they say it here?" he asked in French again. "Yes, that. No _reaction_." His skin was dark under his swarthy complexion. She thought he was blushing. "For you? The same?"

" _Oui_ , the same for me. So it's not my fault?"

He chuckled and caressed her cheek with the knuckles of one hand before moving to lean against the wall again. "No. Not at all, but it is awkward."

"It is. I would hope not so awkward that we cannot still be friends." That was important to her.

To him as well, apparently. "Yes, we are good friends. And I hope that will always be so."

"Good."

"So, when are you going to be back from visiting your family?"

She told him and he said he'd remember before escorting her with all courtesy to the Slytherin common room, where he wished her a Happy Christmas and she wished him a Happy New Year.

And as she made her way to her dorm room, she wondered if her New Year's Eve kisses with the twins would have _chemistry_ or if she'd be relegated to "good friend" again.

* * *

 _A/N: Krum's a good guy. Please don't hate him. Or me. Thank you, and have a good weekend!_


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five: Day After

**_A/N:_** _For the purposes of this story, the students at Hogwarts are given the opportunity to go home, to return (as customary) the day before classes resume in January. Which will be January 3rd._

 _To Guest **hpobsessed** : Thank you! You're very kind. And a bow AND curtsey to **prettyflour** , who caught review #900! _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

 ** _Hogwarts Express, 26 December 1994_**

"Oi! Granger!"

For a moment, Fred experienced a bit of déjà vu. There was Hermione, confronting them in the passage of the Hogwarts Express, her trunk behind her as it had been years ago, when she'd been an ickle firstie. Then, her hair had been braided carefully behind her head and she'd had a fierce manner of telling them to move out of her way.

He should have known back then that she'd get under his skin.

There were differences, though. Today, she was carrying a large cage with a golden brown owl in it. Today, she was wearing her Muggle jeans, trainers, and a thick wool cloak over her Slytherin green jumper. Today, her hair was loose and seemed less wild than usual, while her eyes appeared wide and sparkling.

"Looks like she's still happy to see us, Gred." George was smiling all over his face, despite their having been up more than half the night with Harry.

"I _am_ happy to see you." Hermione stood, one hand on her hip and just looked at them. "So? Are we riding down together or what?"

"Absolutely!"

The twins hadn't packed but one trunk, since the trip was just for a week, so Fred took their trunk, whilst George offered to help Hermione with hers. "I can manage it, you know." she said with a wry edge to her voice.

"We know it," George responded with a grin. "But it helps me look all manly and attractive, yeah?"

She laughed and both twins beamed in satisfaction as she hefted Boudicca in her cage and let George take her school trunk with him.

They found an empty compartment that overlooked the Hogsmeade Station House. Hermione got Boudicca settled in on the floor, where she wouldn't be as inclined to tip over with sudden stops and starts, and Fred and George got their trunks onto the overhead racks. After the basic "Will that work for you?" chatter, though, Fred was surprised that an uncomfortable silence fell into their still-open compartment. It wasn't usual, between the three of them.

Fred threw himself on the seat across from Hermione, and George did likewise. "So, are you still wanting to celebrate New Year's Eve with us?" he asked, trying his best to be expectant but not demanding.

She nodded and crossed her legs at the ankles, as if she'd been taking Pure-blood Propriety lessons from someone in her House. "I am, but how shall we work that? I mean, getting to your house or did you want to come to mine or . . .?"

George leaned forward. "Well, I thought that perhaps our folks, who'll be at the station, could introduce themselves to your parents?" He looked to Fred—

—who nodded. "And what we thought we'd ask you and—if you agreed, you could ask your parents—if you might stay at the Burrow from New Year's until it was time to go back to Hogwarts?"

Hermione assumed her Slytherin face as they extended the invitation, so George blurted, "If you want. I mean, it's really short notice and all, we know. If you'd rather just do New Year's Eve, we could still do that, of course. Our folks have a party that night, and it's rather open to all sorts of friends of Dad's in the Ministry, and us and our friends and, well, you know. It's busy. Lots of people, so adding someone new won't be a problem at all, you know? If you were worried about that—"

"Shut it, Forge," Fred said with a slap on George's knee. "Hermione? You all right there?"

With a little wave of her hand, she nodded. "Yeah. Just, just thinking. So, you're inviting me to stay with your family for a couple of nights before we go back to school?" She met each of their gazes with her own steady one. "I'm fairly sure my mum and dad will be fine with that, if they can meet your parents." She frowned and bit her lip, an action that certainly had Fred's focus riveted. "Will it be okay, with Boudicca? I can't just ask her to fly all the way to Hogwarts if I'm not there for her."

"Not a problem at all," Fred assured her. "Ron has an owl, too, right? So we're good with that."

"Ron." She said his name as if it were her least favorite vegetable. "I don't know, come to think of it. I mean, he hates me."

Harry, Hedwig in hand, showed up right then, which both Fred and George found to be excellent timing. There was a reason he was a Seeker! "Fred. George. Granger."

"Potter," Hermione returned. "Oh, I've got the owl treats I owe you, from before. _Accio_ Tyto Treats," she said casually with a few swishes of her wand. She was doing more than just Summoning snacks. Fred thought she was nonverbally removing any wards and opening her trunk as well. She really was skilled with that kind of thing; she always had been. He knew she'd been holding back in Defense!

"Tyto Treats?" George had to ask. That sounded so weird.

"Yeah." Harry's eyes were wide as he saw Hermione's school trunk click open and a brown, bulging bag float out and down to her waiting hand. "Merlin, Granger. That's brilliant." She thanked him absently before opening the bag and pouring out half into her lap. When she gave him what was left in the bag, Harry stepped fully into their compartment to take it and and sent a quick glance to Fred.

It had a question in it, which Fred answered with a negative shake of his head. That Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, was nervous about saying what he was going to say to Hermione made Fred want to laugh at him.

He didn't, though. Instead, he just waved at him a bit with one hand, silently urging him to get on with it. After all, he and George were trying to get Hermione to come stay at the Burrow for a couple of days and this took delicate negotiations, didn't it?

"Granger," Harry said, rubbing at the back of his neck with the hand still holding the paper bag of owl treats. "I wanted to say thank you."

Hermione was occupied in transfiguring a glove into a bag to hold the remaining treats. "Hm? For what?" She was barely listening to Harry as she sketched a pattern in the air over her lap whilst holding the glove in the other hand. Her lips moved, but Fred couldn't hear her.

"For, er, figuring out the way to hear the clue in the egg."

That got her attention. She shot Harry a glance, appeared irritated, and then said " _Crumina_!" The leather glove blurred before becoming a leather bag that was the same size. She turned it inside-out, performed a quick _Scourgify_ , and put the little bag to rights again before scooping the owl treats—bits of textured meat from a mystery animal—into it. The whole process took less than ninety seconds. Fred had counted just as a matter of curiosity.

When she had finished that, she fished a treat out of the bag and leaned over to give it to Boudicca whilst watching Harry at the same time. "So, the egg? What?"

"Fred said you gave him the idea about whales and dolphins, and immersing the egg to understand it, yeah?" He frowned and pushed his glasses up his nose while he waited for her response.

"Oh! Yes. It made sense, you know? Are you going to try that when we get back to school? Because, really, Viktor mentioned the Black Lake and that seemed a bit extreme in January."

"Er, no. Didn't you suggest the Prefect's bath?" She nodded. "Well, yeah. So we went there, the twins and I. And it worked, Granger, so thanks. I, uh, opened it under the water and it was a song, with a poem and such. So, yeah."

Fred crossed one leg over the other as Hermione leaned forward toward Harry. Boudicca fluffed out her feathers and George slid to the floor next to the cage. Fred didn't know why, but it seemed to calm the owl, so there was that. "Well?" Hermione pressed. "Did you write it down?"

At Harry's utterly blank expression, Fred slapped his own forehead. Hermione just looked both disappointed and resigned. "Did you at least memorize it?"

"Granger, come on. We're not all super swots like you! I'll do that after hols. It's not like I can do anything about it for the next week, yeah?"

She leaned back into the cushioned seat. "True. Well. I'm glad if I was able to help. Perhaps," she went on, disdain edging her voice, "when you do get it down on paper, you can share it with me? I'm very curious."

"Don't do it, Harry!"

Hermione, George, and Fred himself all groaned when Ron butted into their compartment. Hermione shook her head and looked at both Fred and George. "I told you."

"Still, we'd be inviting you as a guest," George said firmly. "Not Ron."

"You can totally ignore him," Fred added.

"He'll have Harry over anyway."

"And we didn't invite either of them on our date!" Fred beamed at Hermione before turning to stare at his little brother, who was gaping, wide-eyed and red-faced, at Hermione. "So, Ronniekins, unless you're planning on changing—"

"Your entire attitude and behavior toward Miss Granger, here—"

"You can just Vanish yourself."

Ron's face went crimson. "But! But! But! You can't! She's a snake!"

Hermione apparently had had enough. She drew her wand and, though Fred considered stopping her, he decided that perhaps Ron needed to be told what was what from her. The girl could fight her own battles, after all. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that much.

She pushed past Harry and stood in front of Ron, her wand near his chin but not under his jaw. The latter, Fred knew, would be entirely too threatening and she could get reported for that. The girl knew her limits for sure. "Listen, Weasley. I'm not just a snake. I'm the only Muggle-born sorted into my house in over a century. I'm ahead of my entire year in Defense, and I have helped your best mate here in the big, nasty Triwizard Tournament. I'm also friends and future business partners with your brothers. I suggest," she continued, stepping forward until Ron gave way and stepped back into the passage, "that you remember these things and take up herpetology."

"Herpe-what?" George whispered.

"Herpetology," Hermione repeated. "Basically, the study of snakes. And other reptiles and amphibians."

Ron didn't even whisper. He just stared at Hermione with his mouth open like a landed fish. Then, he seemed to gather his wits and asked, "Why?"

"Because I've been invited to your house for New Year's, _cub_ ," she told him. "So get over it before we get to London."

She abruptly turned to ignore Ron and moved to sit on the floor of the compartment next to Boudicca. The owl hopped to her and rubbed its beak along the bars of the cage. She crooned at it as Ron and Harry left them alone.

George cleared his throat. "So. You're coming, then?"

She blew loose curls from in front of her face as she looked up at them. "I'd like to, if I'm still invited. But I'll have to check with my parents."

Fred rubbed his hands together. "Great! So, what I was thinking was that we'd all get off the train together, right? We met your parents last September, so we'll be familiar, won't we?"

"I'd think so, yes. I've written of you often," she admitted.

Fred felt his chest puff out in pride. "Aw, well. How's a bloke s'posed to feel about that?"

"Hope you were complimentary!" George said with a grin.

"Told 'em about how brilliant we are."

"And handsome, don't forget that!"

At that, Hermione finally broke into a smile. "Well, they've heard some, to be sure. They'll still want to meet your parents."

George lifted one hand. "I'll round them up and bring them to you and yours, eh? Shake hands all 'round and such. And then Dad might issue the invitation, since he's dying to meet Muggles." He looked to Fred and they shared a smile. Dad was a surprising man, once you got to know him, but he tended to come across as rather eccentric at first. "Don't worry, though. We'll try to keep him reined in."

"Potter will be there too, I suppose?" Hermione asked with a lifted brow.

George said he would be. "So, really, you'll be there for a party, with our brothers and sister and any of their friends who stay and like that. It shouldn't be too odd, I hope, for your parents to agree to."

"It should be fine."

She stayed on the floor, sitting quietly for a moment and Fred heard the last boarding call. He moved to shut the door, convinced no one else would be planning on bothering them. Then, he asked a question he and George had pondered on to some degree since midnight.

"Can we ask how it went, last night?"

Hermione's chest rose and fell as she appeared to think about it. Then, she turned a little whilst remaining on the floor. "You have to ask? You were there."

George leaned forward and tugged on one of her curls. "Well, not at the end, we weren't. You'd run off, now, hadn't you?"

Color bloomed in her cheeks but it went away so quickly George wondered if he'd imagined it. "Ah. Well. Yes. We, er, were near the Slytherin common room, after we left the dancing. Talked some more about the egg and such."

A bit worried, but determined to make an honest go of it, Fred tapped her foot with his. She seemed to be startled by that, but she didn't move away, either. "Did he, er, ask you out again or anything?"

"Just because we asked for New Year's Eve—" George began.

"Doesn't mean you're stuck forever or anything."

George looked at him, and Fred knew that George hated asking about it. He was always concerned with how Hermione _felt_ about things. Uneasiness stirred uncomfortably in his gut, but there was no help for it. He had to know.

She took a sharp breath before moving to sit right in front of them, so near to each of them that she rested one elbow on Fred's knee, the other on George's. "Are you asking if I'm _with_ Viktor Krum? As in a relationship?"

Fred felt his heart pound sharp at that, with her sitting at his feet the way she was, but still so direct and strong in her voice and look. "You're the bravest girl I've ever known," he whispered. The words fell from him without thought, but he didn't take them back.

George took one of her hands. "What he said. Really, 'Mione, you're bloody amazing."

She ducked her head and blushed in earnest at that point and reached for Fred's hand, which gratified him amazingly. "To answer you, no. We're not. Nor will we be. We're friends, good friends." Looking up again, her eyes were narrowed. "And I have every intention of helping him with the Second and Third Tasks."

"Naturally," George said, knowing he was still smiling like an idiot. He guessed Hermione hadn't kissed Viktor, after all, and he was a bit embarrassed that he and Alicia had given it a go, but it didn't amount to anything, did it?

Fred nodded at Hermione's declaration. "Of course. So we're still on for New Year's Eve?"

"Yes! How many times have I answered that today?" She shook her head, squeezed each of their hands, and pushed herself off the floor to resume her seat across the compartment. "So. I am having a bit of a challenge."

All ears, George and Fred listened, first with disbelief and then with worry as she told them about her suspicions regarding their Defense professor.

"I guess we have a project for the holiday, yeah?"

* * *

"Ignore them," George advised Hermione, whispering over her head as a couple of fourth year Gryffindors made hissing sounds as she left the Express in the company of the Weasley twins. Fred had gone to get a trolley that all three of them could use, at least for as long as it took to get the parental introductions sorted.

The day was overcast, but there'd been no snow so the ground was the basic wet, gray mess that it often was in winter, with slippery footprints crossing the platform. The general dreary appearance was vastly alleviated, to Hermione's eyes, by the colorful people who were waiting for the Hogwarts students on Platform 9 3/4.

The Urquhart family, distinguishable by their unique red hair color, stood a bit apart, all dressed in slim fitting robes. Hermione's roommate, Patrice, glided over to them, her wheeled trunk barely daring to skip on an uneven segment of the platform. The wish to call, "Happy New Year, Patrice!" was strong in Hermione's mind, but she refrained. Like as not, the girl would save her hex for the first day back at Hogwarts.

Ilana, now a beautiful young woman of fifteen years, was met by her father, Mr. Shafiq. His eyes were as blue as hers, and his comportment equally dignified. Hermione didn't wish her any New Year's greetings, either.

But when Shana Shacklebolt was met by her uncle the Auror, Hermione did call out her well wishes to that roommate. Fred, who had returned and was guiding her toward his family, patted her on the back even as Shana offered her a half-hearted wave.

Nodding in satisfaction, Hermione was then prepared to meet Mrs. Weasley again. She thought.

She had also been prepared to meet Mr. Weasley. She had not, though, been prepared to meet an entire colony of Weasleys.

Fred and George had red hair. She was used to it, of course. It was a light, bright color that appealed to her and reminded her of autumn, especially when she could stare at them and take in the freckles and clear brown eyes and the broad shoulders that she was hopeful would surround her given the opportunity . . .

Their family was much the same in terms of coloring, and she noted it as she noted most things when she and Fred drew near to them. George swept his arm in her direction. "So, this is Hermione Granger. Mum, you met her already. Ron and Gin know her, of course. Hermione, this is the rest of the family. You've met Mum. Dad is Arthur Weasley." They shook hands and George went on. "This is Bill, our eldest brother." Bill had long hair that he had tied in a queue at the neck. He looked to be what her mother called "a handful"—handsome, intelligent, with a wicked sense of humor flaring in his blue eyes.

Those wicked eyes flickered to Fred with brows lifted in an unspoken, but obvious, question. Fred and George both turned red, which made Hermione even more curious.

Ron, the prat, opened his mouth and took a deep breath. "Stop it already, she's—"

"Do _not_ go there, Ronniekins," George directed with as stern a look as he ever wore, in Hermione's long knowledge of his facial expressions.

Potter, who was standing loyally next to his best mate, met Hermione's eyes with a subtle shrug.

Fred took up the conversational baton. "This is Charlie. You might remember him."

Hermione shifted her focus to another blue-eyed brother. He reminded her of George and Fred, while Bill was tall and lean like Ron. Charlie Weasley. She tried a small smile. "Yes, sir. I remember. You seem to be well, after the First Task?"

Charlie paused a moment before laughing and running a hand through his hair. There were more scars on his hand than she remembered from her first year, and she remembered his grave injuries. "Yes, thank you, and remember, just _Charlie_. I thought we went through all this?"

"Where's Percy?" Fred inquired of his mother, obviously moving the conversation along. Perhaps there was a prohibition on discussing Charlie's wounds?

"With Penny Clearwater for Christmas." Mrs. Weasley beamed in obvious satisfaction and Hermione counted years up very quickly.

"He was Head Boy last year, wasn't he, Mrs. Weasley?" she asked politely. If he were already being cast in a courting light, it meant that this family believed in marrying young, perhaps. If so, why weren't Bill and Charlie surrounded by wives and children?

"He was," the short, fiery woman answered with a nod. "And he got a promotion in the Ministry recently, as well."

Hermione saw Mr. Weasley shift uncomfortably and filed that away.

George rubbed his hands together. "So, Mum. Dad. Wanted to introduce you to Hermione's parents so we can invite her over for New Year's Eve."

That took each Weasley by surprise, save Ron, but they recovered well, Hermione thought. Mr. Weasley smiled at her in a warm manner. "And your parents. . . ?"

"Are on the other side of the platform, yes," Hermione said, grateful for his apparent acceptance. "I'm sure they'd enjoy meeting you, sir."

"Well, then, let's go and do that shall we? Molly?"

"What about us?" Ron demanded. His voice seemed so much more strident and annoying now that Platform 9 3/4 was emptying of people.

"You can stay here if you want," Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes tight on her husband as if she'd have a thing or two to say to him in private.

"Fine. C'mon, Harry. Gin. We can wait here."

"I'll stay with them," both the elder brothers said at the same time. This made Fred and George gasp in obviously pretended, wide-eyed shock.

"See, it'll be just fine, Hermione," George whispered into her ear.

In her cage, Boudicca ruffled her feathers, annoyed.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six: Awkward Parents

_**A/N:** Posting a smidge early, as I'm up and caffeinated early today. Imagine that. My thanks to everyone who is reading this fic and adding it to their lists and a special wink to you who review! _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

 ** _King's Cross Station, 26 December 1994_**

Mr. Weasley graciously offered to take Hermione's trunk for her as they crossed to the Muggle side of the station. "I can charm it, of course, Miss Granger, so it's really no trouble."

She forced herself to smile. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley. That's very kind of you." They went through the wall one at a time, Boudicca clicking her irritation, ruffling her feathers yet again as they waited for Mrs. Weasley, Fred, and George to follow them. "Hush, Boudicca. I know it's unsettling, but we'll be home soon, and you can relax, all right?"

The owl clicked at her and she fished about to find another Tyto Treat. When she looked up again, Mr. Weasley was looking about expectantly, a smile on his face. Fred and George were on either side of her, and Mrs. Weasley gave the appearance of being distinctly uncomfortable. Hermione couldn't tell, though, if her discomfort was due to being on this side of the platform or if was due to Hermione herself, for the older witch's eye fell upon her balefully.

"Fred," Hermione whispered as she peered through the throng of people to find her parents. "Is your mother angry with me for some reason?"

She felt his hand warm upon her back, even through the layers of her cloak and jumper. "No, 'Mione. She's just protective is all. I think we've given her a bit of a shock."

"Ah. All right. You sure it's still all right? New Year's?"

"Dad is agreeable, so yeah."

She nodded, though part of her wondered if she would need her personal shields during the entire time she was to stay at the Burrow. Then, she saw her mum and dad and a welcome feeling of relief swept through her.

"Mum! Dad!"

"Pumpkin!" her father called, his voice echoing off any and all solid surfaces on the wet, gray day.

"Pumpkin?" Mrs. Weasley muttered.

Hermione sighed and the twins laughed quietly. "We'll never tell, Hermione."

"Right." She didn't believe them for a moment.

When she reached her parents, Hermione set Boudicca's cage down gently and hugged her parents before any more words were said. Then, it was time for more introductions.

"So! You remember George Weasley and Fred Weasley, my friends from school? They're in my Self-Defense class and we have projects we do and such." Her parents nodded at Fred and George, smiling as if grateful their daughter had friends. Hermione didn't blame them; she was grateful she had them, too.

"And these must be their parents," Mum said, extending her hand to shake.

"Yes, Mum. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

Mr. Weasley shook Mum's hand, and then Dad's, and his wife did likewise. "We're Arthur and Molly."

Fred and George inserted themselves at that point. "And Hermione's parents are doctors, Dad! So, they're Doctor and Doctor Granger!"

"Dentists," Hermione said softly, leaning toward Mrs. Weasley. "Tooth healers."

"Oh, I see," Mrs. Weasley said with a nod.

Drizzle started to fall at that point, and Hermione knew her hair would be a mass of even more unruly curls in a moment. "Also known as Daniel and Emma," she said, adding her parents' first names in the most awkward parental introduction ever. She glanced at the twins and Fred nudged his father.

Mr. Weasley made an amused, "Oh ho!" sound and—in a manner reminiscent of his sons—rubbed his hands together. "Right, then. So. We'd like to invite your Hermione to join us for New Year's Eve at our home in Devon."

"Devon?" Mum asked, her eyes wide as they met Hermione's. _Do you want to go?_ her mother asked with that look. Hermione nodded enthusiastically and her mother smiled as she patted her father on the arm. "Of course. Thank you for inviting her."

"What we thought might work," Fred said, stepping forward a bit and meeting her parents' eyes, "would be if she spent the rest of the hols after with our family. It's only three nights and we'd make sure she got to the station to go back to school."

George rolled up on the balls of his feet. "My brothers and sister and I go back, too."

"And Harry Potter," Fred added. "So, you see, we have quite a group to travel with."

Dad frowned thoughtfully. "If you're sure it wouldn't be an inconvenience? So many kids?" He directed the question to Mr. Weasley.

"Oh, not at all! We've got seven of our own, you know—"

"Oh, my." Mum's wide eyes now went toward Mrs. Weasley. The two women communicated without words and Hermione guessed it was a "mum thing".

"Quite. So, Daniel, not an inconvenience at all. Plenty of room. No worries."

"Thank you so much!" Hermione said, throwing herself into the discussion. "Who'll be coming for me?"

"I will," Mr. Weasley told her with a gentle pat on her hand. "Quickest route, and all," he added with a significant tilt of his head. "Send me a note with your address and fireplace location," he went on in a quiet tone, "and I'll add you to the network for the holiday."

"I'll tell them all about it," Hermione said. "Thank you again."

Her mother smiled and adjusted the scarf around her neck. "Ready to go, then, pumpkin?"

"Mum!" Hermione rolled her eyes. All four parents laughed lightly. Ignoring them, she turned to George and Fred. "So, see you soon, yeah?"

"Right!" Both knelt down to pay their respects to Boudicca before smiling at her again and thanking her parents for permission for her to visit. "Bye, Hermione!"

"Bye!"

Then, her dad took her trunk and she picked up the cage again. "So, home?"

Her mother grinned and embraced her with one warm arm. "Yes! And I want to hear about this ball! And how did you look in the dress? And how was your date?"

"And do I need to find some way to do him bodily harm?" her father asked with an obviously overplayed scowl.

The drive back to Crawley was filled with details, promises of pictures when she had them, and more talk about Christmas and family news. Hermione relaxed thoroughly against the comfortable seat of her dad's Audi, reflecting that, for a few days, she didn't need to put up a _Protego_ , she wouldn't hear the words "Mudblood" or "Snake" and she didn't have to watch her back.

She was already missing the boys, though. She didn't plan on telling her parents about the upcoming midnight kiss on New Year's Eve, either. She just really hoped that all the stomach flutters, blushing, and light casual touches meant that the kisses would have—how did Viktor say it?—fire.

* * *

"So they really have seven children?" Mum asked on the morning of New Year's Eve. "Seven?"

They were sitting at the kitchen table over a post-breakfast cup of tea. Hermione looked around the room and smiled at the familiar appliances, colors, and dishes. "They really do. They don't all live at home, though. I mean, the three oldest have jobs and places of their own. One is a dragon tamer!" That got her mother's imagination working. "His name's Charlie and he was a seventh year Prefect when I started at school. Nice guy. Really. At school right now are Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. They're all in Gryffindor."

"And how will their father be taking you to their house tonight?"

"It's called Apparition, Mum. It's like teleporting in the sci-fi books. You have to have a license, but Mr. Weasley has been Apparating his kids since forever, so I know he'll manage, no problem. It's safe and is the major means of transportation, aside from the Floo. And then, we'll probably go back to King's Cross by Floo, since they've got a permanent connection. It's a network."

Her mother took that in with a slow nod and sipped at her Earl Grey. "Well, you'll have to tell me all about it. Bring your camera, all right?"

"Yes, Mum. And I'm sorry I didn't think about it for the ball, but there's a boy in Gryffindor who was taking pictures. I'll get one from him." If she could persuade him to hand one over. Those Gryffindors were tricky.

Mum got up to rinse out her cup. "So, will you be down for Spring Hols, pumpkin?"

Hermione finished her tea. "No, I don't think so. Not with exams. I'm going to stay at school and study. A lot of kids stay over hols, really. The train wasn't even full coming down this time." She leaned back and smiled. "What about summer? Are we still going to France?"

Mum wiggled her brows playfully. "Absolutely! And if you send me your measurements before June, I'll buy you new things to wear! You can show that young man, your date, hm?"

"Mum! Viktor and I are friends!"

"Then why are you blushing, Hermione? Got another beau hiding somewhere?"

Hermione did not want to wear her Slytherin masks at home. She refused. But neither could she come out and tell her mother that she was basically considering entering a triadic relationship, either. "Maybe," she finally said, letting the blush come because it would amuse her mum.

"Well then, I'll make sure to find you something pretty for France."

"Do I have to send my measurements, Mum? Can't you take them now?"

Her mother's expression dropped a bit, but still she looked proud as she crossed the kitchen to her, drawing her up from the chair so that she stood as if she were modeling clothes already. "No, I can't. Look at you, sweetheart. You've grown so much. You're fifteen years old, now and by the time we go to France, you'll be almost sixteen. You might be taller. Bigger, maybe," she said, looking at Hermione's breasts. "You never know! I'd hate to get you a suit and find you'd blossomed right out of it."

Laughing, Hermione closed in to give her mum a hug. "Wouldn't want that, no. Especially not if you're taking pictures."

"Yes! And I will expect to hear all about this mystery boy, too, so I hope you figure that out before the end of the term." She pulled away from Hermione, but kept her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "You're being safe?"

"Mum!"

"Hermione Jean."

She sighed. "Mum. No. The 'Mystery Boy', as you call him, and I haven't gone out anywhere. Not even Hogsmeade. If we start dating, I'll let you know. I promise."

But how much could she tell her mum? Would either of the twins have their feelings hurt if she asked the other one to pose as her boyfriend until she was of age and her mother couldn't stop her from seeing them? They'd have to talk about that right away, if—

If the New Year's Eve kissing went well, anyway.

* * *

"Hello the house!"

It was dark in Crawley, and Hermione had been ready for hours. Ready and nervous and wondering if she'd remembered everything.

"Take a gift to Mrs. Weasley, pumpkin," her mother had reminded her. "You're going to be a guest in her house, it's only right."

Hermione had come close to panicking. "What do I take?" she had asked on a squeak. "Mrs. Weasley doesn't like me; what can I take that won't be stupid?"

"Something, something Muggle, I think. I know! How about your grandmother's scones? Food is always good for a gift. And maybe some wine?"

So now, with Mr. Weasley announcing himself through the fireplace, Hermione was composing herself. She held a basket of fresh-baked scones and a bottle of her parents' favorite champagne to celebrate the occasion. In front of her was Boudicca, waking up and clicking in impatience. The ever-present school trunk was repacked with some new Muggle clothes, a new perfume that she hoped wouldn't break, as she hadn't been able to cast a charm on it yet, and of course more books.

She was wearing party clothes. Mum insisted. Black and spangly and form-fitting. "You never know, pumpkin!" Mum thought makeup would be fun, too. "It's New Year's Eve," she had said over Hermione's protests. "Muggle tradition is to go glam, sweetheart!"

"That's so seventies, Mum! Ugh!"

"No, this isn't. I saw it in _Vogue_ in the office just this month. _Glam Rocks_ , it said on the cover, with some young girls just like you!"

Hermione cringed, but she couldn't deny that she was going to make an impact that evening. "Fine. Thank you, Mum." Her hair was down, but in glossy, tamed ringlets. The dress had straps, so she had a cloak. Back to kitten heels again, but she supposed it would do for the evening. Smoky eyes, dark lipstick, all the stops. "I feel like I'm dressed for Halloween or something."

Mum smiled and brushed a thumb over her cheek. "Well, you look amazing. I'm glad I took a picture."

Dad appeared in his own version of party clothes which included a dark suit and tie. "You look too grown up," he remarked with a frown.

Hermione hurried to give him a hug. "Love you, Dad. Love you, Mum."

Mr. Weasley emerged, dusting Floo powder off his sleeves. "Right, then! Hello! Daniel, Emma, you look smashing. Where's Hermione?"

"Here, Mr. Weasley." She confessed to a bit of pleasure when the older, red-headed man blinked in surprise to see her. She pretended she hadn't noticed, though, and moved straight to business. "Will this be a problem, taking all of this with us?"

"Not at all, my dear. I know that your owl—" He silently inquired with lifted brow as to the name of said owl.

"Boudicca."

"I am sure Boudicca would not appreciate being shrunk, but I'll shrink your trunk and tuck it in my pocket. Same for, oh, what is that, there? Scones?" He inhaled through the thin cheesecloth that wrapped them. "Delicious! They won't be hurt by a bit of a shrinking, either. I'll take the bottle, you take Boudicca—make sure to maintain contact with her body, dear—and we'll be off." He had cared for the trunk and the scones as planned, so all was then in readiness. "Doctor Granger, Doctor Granger, I'll take good care of your daughter."

"I'll owl and let you know everything's fine when I get to school, Mum. Dad. All right?"

"Of course, pumpkin. Happy New Year!"

Mr. Weasley had her link her arm in his, reminded her to hold on tightly to the cage, and lifted his wand to spin. And Hermione thought she was going to fall off the world and into a vortex, never to return.

"Oh. Oh. Oh." First, she checked on Boudicca. The owl glared balefully at her. "I—I don't think she liked that." It was easier to comment thus than to focus on her own roiling stomach.

Her host smiled down at her. "You all right, then? Everything make it? Nothing got splinched?" He did a quick walk-around and she stood still. It didn't bother her to have him give her a once-over. She truly felt as if he were making sure she wasn't missing anything important.

Like her stomach!

She took a deep breath to center herself and then looked around. The air was cold and cleansing about her. "I'm fine, sir. Thank you so much." Boudicca complained, so she reached into an inner cloak pocket for a prepared treat for her owl. "There, there. We're all sorted, now."

"Welcome to the Burrow," Mr. Weasley said expansively, waving toward the tall, narrow house with its glowing windows. "We're in the rear yard, on the flagstones. Always easiest for a landing with a lady in heels, I've found." At her surprised smile, he tapped the side of his nose. "Been married for a lot of years. Learned a few things, what?"

"I'm sure! Thank you again."

"Not at all. A pleasure, a pleasure. Come along, let's get you out of the cold, yes?"

He led her into the house, which seemed, upon examination, to have been built as a child's project. Each floor sat precariously atop the one below it. They entered into what she figured was the lounge, or living room. It was low-ceilinged and lit primarily by an enormous fireplace as well as lamps and candles here and there.

And it was warm and noisy. She felt instantly on her guard, but tried not to actually shield herself. Instead, she kept her eyes open.

"Molly! Our guest has arrived!"

Hermione had been hoping that George and Fred would greet her, because she knew them and was comfortable with them—and she wanted to see if they liked her "glam look"—but they hadn't appeared yet. Instead, Mrs. Weasley bustled up, her face tilted to look up at her husband before glancing at Hermione.

She spoke over the music and scattered conversations. "Oh, good. You don't mind sharing with Ginny, do you, Hermione? Not sure how many rooms we'll have tonight, as we have a full house."

"Not at all, Mrs. Weasley," she answered politely, still looking for the twins.

"Ginevra! Come show Hermione to your room!"

"But, Mum! She's—"

"None of that, Ginevra," Mr. Weasley interrupted firmly. "You take her up right now."

Tension throbbed all around her and Hermione almost asked to be taken home, but instead, she inhaled and forced her chest to decompress. She swallowed. Remembered that she was proud to be a Slytherin and a Muggle-born, and graciously gave Mrs. Weasley the properly-sized scones and champagne.

"Thank you," the lady of the house said shortly.

As Mr. Weasley had charmed the trunk to be light as a feather, and as Harry Potter showed up at that moment, Hermione was grateful to be relieved of Boudicca's cage as they made their way through the many guests to a ground-floor bedroom. Ginny's room was small and dark just then, but there was a cot set up along the wall opposite the girl's bed. "In the morning, you'll be able to see the orchard," Ginny told her. "We've got lots of room about, and it's all quite healthy, Mum says."

"Thank you for letting me stay here tonight, Ginny."

"Well, you couldn't very well sleep with one of the boys, could you?" She offered a mischievous smile. "They fancy you, you know."

Startled, Hermione swallowed down her surprise. "Oh?"

Ginny gave her a knowing look and let it go. "Just leave your things there. Do you want to open the window for your owl to hunt? She really is quite lovely. Harry's Hedwig hunts hereabouts."

"I've a ward on the window in Ron's room," Potter said from the door. "If you like, we could bring Boudicca up and she and Hedwig can keep one another company."

Hermione felt flustered and so out of place it was making her feel ill, but she contained all of that with a smile and a nod. "What do you say, Boudicca? Want to visit with Hedwig?" That seemed to meet with approval, judging by the owl's body language, so they made it happen. "Thank you, Potter. I appreciate it."

"No worries."

Ginny Weasley sighed softly as Potter left. "You can lay your cloak on the cot, there, if you like."

"Thank you." Hermione did so slowly, watching Ginny out of the corner of her eye. "My Mum thought I should come dressed for a party," she said, feeling awkward. She didn't want to come across as posh, but neither did she wish to show weakness before a younger Gryffindor. "She was reading a magazine at her office."

"Wow, wait." Ginny lit a lamp and stared at her, wide-eyed. "Granger. You look like you should've been on that magazine. _Witch Weekly_ would love that. What was it the twins said? Only Muggle-born sorted into Slytherin in over a century?"

Hermione stiffened her spine. "That would be me, yes."

"Well, yes." Ginny offered her a crooked sort of smile. "They'll faint, you know. Fred and George. Just, be careful, yeah?"

Over the sounds of the party not far away, the girls both heard two voices raised as one. "Boudicca! She's here! She's here!" And then, there were heavy treads flying down the stairs. "Where is she?"

Ginevra let out an impatient breath. "Come on, then. Let's get you out there so they don't come crashing down my door." With a mischievous smile, Ginny shook her head and led the way out of the room.

* * *

 _A/N: True story. The_ Vogue _magazine referenced by Emma Granger is a real thing. I love the internet._


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven: Kiss at Midnight

_**A/N** : You saw the title of the chapter and said, "Finally!", right?_

 _Many thanks to **Jasper-replaces-edward** who caught review #1000 on the last chapter. Wow! And my continued gratitude to everyone reading, adding this story to their lists, and especially to those who review. :) It's lovely to have a chance to interact with you. _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Kiss at Midnight**

 ** _The Burrow, 31 December 1994_**

"Bloody hell. We weren't here to greet her," George said on a rasp as they all but leapt into the living room in the middle of brothers, dates, Ministry staff, and the neighbors drinking Butterbeer and wine.

Fred tugged on his jumper and tried to rearrange his hair, which had gone all wonky on his way down the stairs. "Where is she?"

They spun around, the pair of them, unaware that they'd grabbed hands. Mum, with something bubbly in a glass. Dad eating something that was making him smile and sharing a plate of it with Kingsley Shacklebolt and his date. Bill with a huge, shite-eating grin on his face as he stared at them, looking as if he knew something important that he wasn't telling, the git. Percy and Penny, sitting near the fire. Ginny coming in with someone—a hot someone, who had to have just dropped in on her way to some pure-blood ball, dressed in something black and shiny—Harry and Ron, who'd just got back downstairs with bottles of Butterbeer in their hands.

"Where is she?" George repeated.

"Ahem?"

"Hermione?" Fred whispered. "Think she's going all invisible on us, George?"

"I'm right here. Honestly. Glad you weren't charged with getting me here tonight."

"Oh, yeah. She's here."

At that point, the room had gone utterly still, so much so that even they figured it out, focused as they were on tracking a possibly Disillusioned Hermione. Even Ron was snickering, though he choked on his drink.

Bill strode smoothly past them to the side of the gorgeous girl in the black sparkly dress. "I think you've struck them blind, there, Miss Granger."

At that, the entire living room erupted into laughter and Fred and George stood, gobsmacked, when Hermione joined them in so doing. "I might have done, even without a wand. D'you suppose I'll get ticked by the Ministry?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice seemed to come from the floor. "No, not tonight, Miss Granger. From what my niece says, you'd probably find a way around that, anyway."

"Hermione!" George found his tongue first. He had to drag it off the floor, but what's a bloke to do? "You're here!"

"I thought we'd established that?" she asked, hand on her hip. Bill nudged her shoulder and Ginny bent over, cackling in laughter. "Yes. I'm here."

Fred lunged forward and grabbed her hand, dragging her away from Bill. Not that Bill would be interested in a student, but, but, Hermione didn't _look_ like a student. "Wow. You, I can't. Wow!"

"Why don't you introduce your friend, Fred?" Dad asked loudly, as if he were a Master of Ceremonies at some Ministry event.

Hermione jerked a little, but calmed down almost immediately and nodded a bit. George just made a little motion with his chin and Fred decided it was his job.

"Er, right. Yeah. This is Hermione Granger, Hogwarts. Sixth—"

"Fifth!" George corrected.

"Oh, right. She's only in sixth for Defense." That got the tongues wagging, Fred was pleased to see. Hermione sighed lightly but he carried on. "Fifth year. First Muggle-born sorted into Slytherin in over a century," he concluded.

Conversation stopped as if he'd thrown a silencing charm over the room.

"Oh, Fred," Hermione whispered, so soft he almost didn't hear her, but he did and when he looked at her, his heart just about stopped. Her eyes were glowing and there was something that looked like pride in them. Pride in _him_ , maybe.

She was happy and proud and _he_ had made her feel that way. He felt as if he were ten feet tall. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it tight, smiling.

George elbowed him and grinned and Fred knew—because they were twins and he just _did_ —that George was as pleased as he was himself. He thought that, if nothing else happened that whole night, this would be the way he'd choose to end the year. Right here in the Burrow, with George and Hermione, all happy with her eyes fairly glowing at him.

But, alas, life is rarely that perfect. There was still a hush in the room from when he had announced Hermione's House affiliation. Neither Fred nor George felt like looking around the room, though. It was too enjoyable to gaze at Hermione.

Their attention was diverted despite their wishes. Someone from the Ministry came over with her hand outstretched. "Excellent! Miss Granger, hello. This lot won't say _boo_ , I know, but I'm Gemma Farley, Slytherin, Class of 1990. I must have just missed you." She leaned in as if to whisper confidentially, but her whisper carried over the whole of the room. "They're just hopeless, the lions, so we have to sort of bear with them, yeah?"

Hermione smiled and shook her hand. "Thank you, Miss Farley. Nice to meet you."

Conversations resumed and Dad joined them for a few minutes and then Mum, and Fred just wanted to drag Hermione away from everyone. Just the three of them. They drew in on one another, effectively cutting the others out, as they spoke to each other. It was the way parties went, he'd found over the years. This group melded with that group then they broke apart and people went here and there.

And right now, there was a group of only three. And he liked that very much.

"I feel like I'm overdressed, sorry. I hope I'm not embarrassing you in front of your family."

"Are you mad?" George wondered, his eyebrows well under his fringe. "You look like you should be on a magazine cover."

She laughed and that made his heart leap in his chest to hear. "Your sister said something very like. Thank you."

"I'm sorry we were late. Dad didn't tell us he was going for you, yet."

Fred nodded, watching George's face brighten when Hermione took his hand. "And we were working on that, that _project_ you mentioned on the train. The, er, moody one."

Her eyes—had they ever looked so sexy and smoky and hot?—widened. "Ohhh. That one."

"Want to, er, take a bit of a walk? Talk about it?"

George checked his pocket watch. It was almost nine. "We've got time, you know. We could step to the kitchen, grab a bite?"

"Do we still have the wireless in there?" Fred wondered out loud.

"Maybe?"

"Miss Granger, would you do us the great honor of a dance this evening?"

She blinked, clearly surprised. "Of, of course. I'd be honored, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley."

"You know," George said, stepping toward the kitchen with her hand still in his. "You've never told us, all these years that you've known us, how you knew which of us was which."

The kitchen smelled like home to George, redolent with the aromas of fresh baking, tea, and herbs that Mum used on a regular basis. Warm lamplight made the familiar wood surfaces glow. He relaxed as they entered it. "So, this is the kitchen," he said unnecessarily.

Hermione smiled. "It's nice. Bigger than mine at home." She looked down at their joined hands. "So . . . what are we doing, then?"

Fred winked at her. "Well, I thought that was fairly obvious, Miss Granger."

George brought her hand to his lips and brushed the skin there. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. "Mm. You smell like dessert."

Her blush was instant and fiery and both boys felt as if they'd stumbled across something fantastic and fun but also very private. And there were far too many people not far away at all, so Fred opted to let it slide. He and George could speculate later. "You were s'posed to be telling us how you've always been able to tell us apart." He hitched himself up to sit on the narrow edge of the table. George did likewise, and Hermione was perforce compelled to stand between them as they didn't let her go.

She didn't seem to mind at all. She did disengage her hand from George's, but only to brush his forehead lightly with her fingertips. George shivered at her touch.

"See, when we met, you were trying very hard to confuse me."

"Well, yeah," Fred admitted, watching her as she did whatever she was doing to his brother's face.

"Nothing personal," George whispered.

"I thought that might be the case. But see, I got bullied a lot in my primary school, so I learned how to figure people out pretty early. I studied you two really fast, that day on the train. And though you are identical, and it shows, when you were younger, your eyebrows weren't as, well, developed as they are now."

George was enraptured, watching her expression. She was serious, thoughtful, but it was clear she wasn't going to stop touching him until she finished her explanation. She could take 'til next year, if she wanted.

Fred decided if she was touching George, he could touch her, so he gently traced one of her eyebrows with a fingertip. She froze and looked at him, a question in her gaze. He smiled a little, but knew he was also very serious. "We share, remember?"

Her cheeks pinked up but she didn't look away. She was bloody amazing.

"So, what about my eyebrow?" George asked, clearly ready for more attention.

She laughed a little. It was a peaceful sound, suitable to a homey kitchen. "Well, I guessed that you got hit in the forehead with something when you were really tiny. You had a little scar right there," she murmured, finding a place that George himself had utterly forgotten about. "Your eyebrow didn't grow down in quite the same way as Fred's, there. It was just a little aberration, but I was desperate."

George laughed and caught her wandering hand. "Desperate? At that age? Naughty girl, Miss Granger." His voice was rough, but he didn't care.

She stilled, though, and he wondered if he'd gone too far. After a moment, she flickered her tongue over her lips and inhaled quickly and George felt his stomach drop and fly in anticipation when she said, "I have never considered myself a _naughty_ girl, Mr. Weasley." And with a look that she might have seen in a magazine perhaps, she glanced toward Fred. "Have you?"

Fred wasn't sure he knew his own name, just at the moment. He couldn't even breathe. "Only once in a while," he managed to say, though it sounded as if he were speaking through gravel.

George tugged her closer to stand between his legs. They'd actually talked about the whole _How to Arrange Ourselves for a First Kiss_ scenario.

Pranksters had to know how to set a perfect scene, after all.

 _Sharing a bedroom had its perks, but also extremely awkward moments at times. "What's the charm?_ Muffliato _?" he and George had had occasion to call out a few times since they'd been home. But really, a bloke had to relieve tension, didn't he?_

 _"How do you want to do this, George?" Fred had asked his twin at least three times in five days. "How do we kiss her?"_

 _"She knows it's both of us, so that's one worry gone."_

 _"Yeah, but we have to make it work. I don't want to be looking back on this and cringing in mortification, you know?"_

 _"You know . . ." They'd wiggled their brows as had become their habit, but their hearts weren't in it and it had showed._

 _"You try first," Fred had decided only the day before. "You pick up on her feelings right enough, don't you?"_

 _George had wiped his mouth after a minute, just thinking. "Er. I try, yeah. But, you're older and you—"_

 _"I don't always have to, Forge. I think you should."_

 _He'd raked his hands through his hair. "Me? You just want me to soften her up so you can try—try, mind—to do better."_

 _"Curse your brilliant brain!"_

 _"Curse your clever plan!"_

 _"Well, where? In the yard?"_

 _"What, at night?" George shook his head. "It'll be cold. Even with warming charms. Plus, if we go out there, who knows who'd follow, yeah?"_

 _"Well, our room's out." They exchanged a look before immediately dropping their gazes. "Yeah. No."_

 _"Kitchen, then?"_

 _"We'll try that. If that doesn't work, we could lock ourselves in the loo."_

 _Laughter helped them over a mess of awkward moments in their life, and those discussions were no different._

So on the big night, they had indeed managed to get to the kitchen. No one else was there right at the moment and George was moving according to plan.

* * *

When the boys had given her their notes on _Magical Multiples and Courtship Customs of the Wizarding World_ , she had been highly gratified. They had done research just for her, taken notes just for her, and had seen to it that she had information at her fingertips and the details to find out more. They _understood_ her and this made her melt, even if she never showed it.

She wanted to better understand them, as well. She read their notes and, during her time at home, had spent an afternoon at the library. That did not offend her parents; she had always spent time in the library. Admittedly, the infamous Kinsey Report, technically known as _Sexuality and the Human Male_ , was not her usual research fare, but it was a reference book and it had been highly educational. It was also decades old, but she had figured some of it had to be useful, and her time was limited. The Hogwarts Library—while having books on courtship and so on—had nothing on sex.

She'd checked.

Of course, such reading had given her active imagination a great deal of material. So, when George and Fred had maneuvered her into the kitchen, finding one empty room in an otherwise very crowded house, she had been prepared. Prepared to take a chemistry test, of sorts. Prepared to feel. To participate. To enjoy herself and them. The Kinsey Report seemed to indicate that it would be mutual.

She felt . . . warm. So, so warm, surrounded entirely by George and Fred. George whispered her name as if every question he had ever asked were in its syllables, and she nodded. When his hands cupped her face, she shivered. When Fred's hands came around her waist, she sighed and leaned into his muscular body while moving her hands up George's arms. He bent forward and brushed her nose with his and she almost fainted.

This was going to be an epic kiss. She felt it. Already, she was hot. So, so hot. Chemistry. Incandescent _reactions_.

George's lips touched hers with slow assurance, making an introduction that she was completely attuned to. Molding to his shape, she leaned forward, feeling Fred follow, his mouth on the side of her neck.

She moaned and felt still more heat rise to her face but she didn't have it in her to be embarrassed, not really, as both the boys echoed her, one opening her mouth with his and the other groaning into her skin.

Three heartbeats. She could feel all of them, racing away as if in some contest. Within. In front. Behind. George lifted his head, dragging breath audibly into his lungs. As soon as he had, before Hermione could do more than make a small protest, she was turned bodily around so that George had his hands around her waist and Fred had one behind her neck and one around her back.

He wasn't slow at all. Fred moved in, sure and confident of his welcome, and she sighed as his tongue parted her lips to invade. She'd never done that before, never even tried with Viktor, of course, so she wasn't sure what she was doing, but even the taste of him was perfect. He wasn't smooth as he kissed her, but he was surely determined and a small part of Hermione's mind that was still thinking, still taking notes, was rather glad that he wasn't vastly experienced.

George pressed against her and she could feel his enjoyment of their first kiss against her bum and lower back. Fred's fingers flexed in the middle of her back and she gripped his shoulders, feeling the full muscles there—Beater's muscles, she knew—and she had an instant appreciation for the sport that she hadn't had before.

"I'll get it, Mum! How about I just find that tub then?"

Hermione froze, hearing a male voice just outside the kitchen. George and Fred did as well, lifting their heads and whispering, "Bill!" at the same moment.

"Is that a problem?" Hermione ventured to ask, mentally running an inventory to make sure her skirt was still where it belonged, her dress straps were still on her shoulders, and that her hair wasn't too badly mussed from their heated first kisses.

"No," Fred said, leaning his forehead to hers, while George pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Oi, Fred! George!"

Fred stiffened. "Gordon _Bennett_ , Bill! Give some guys a minute, yeah?"

Bill snorted and Hermione peeked around Fred to see the eldest Weasley son smirking just inside the kitchen door. "You all right there, Hermione?"

Hermione was both reassured and embarrassed when the boys didn't move away from her. She took a quick breath. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Only _fine_? Then my brothers need more practice, don't they?" His wink at her was playful, but she had the sense that he was no way surprised by what he'd almost caught them doing.

"Bill," George began in a warning tone.

"I'm just teasing. Merlin, it's my right as the eldest of us, you know? Just listen, Mum's wondering where you lot are off to, and was about to send someone up to your room, you know? I think she's on to you."

"Fabian and Gideon," George murmured.

"Your uncles?" Hermione asked.

Bill looked impressed as Hermione squeezed out from between the twins. "The very same, yeah. So, just a heads-up, all right? And hey, do you know where the tub is that Mum uses for outdoor parties?"

Fred remembered where it was and all three brothers filled it with beverages and laced the tub with cooling charms.

"Hey!" Hermione protested. "I thought we couldn't do magic away from school!"

"Well, technically, no. But this is a house filled with wizards and witches, right? And there's a party, so it's not like anyone's going to pinpoint two underaged wizards casting a cooling charm. Now, at your house, being Muggle and all, your magic would send out all kinds of alarms," Bill explained.

"So I could get my wand from my trunk?"

Bill's smile was warm. "Well, you could, but only for tonight. Happy New Year and all that."

Emerging into the party at large, Hermione was unsurprised when both Fred and George claimed a hand or had an arm around her or both. They talked with Percy and his girlfriend, Penelope. Ron managed _not_ to call her a snake even once before midnight. Potter told her that their owls had gone hunting and should be fine. Ginny was talking Quidditch with any number of people of all ages, and Hermione was thinking she should have brought parchment and quill to keep track of everyone there.

There was dancing, for a while, and then as midnight approached, the twins whispered, "We'll see you out back. We've got a surprise for everyone."

Left to her own devices, Hermione fell into a squishy, comfortable chair not too near the fire and just watched people. Her eyes grew heavy, and she was about ready to get up and walk about so as not to get too comfortable and doze, when Mrs. Weasley drew a smaller chair near to hers.

All thoughts of comfort disappeared from Hermione's awareness.

"Thank you for the champagne and scones, Hermione. Arthur's been after me to get your recipe. Did you bake them?"

"I did, Mrs. Weasley. They're my grandmother's recipe." The older woman looked surprised, but Hermione was in full Slytherin mode and tried to look as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "Thank you for having me. I know the boys sort of sprang it on you. They only asked me at the Yule Ball."

"Yes. I understand from them that you went with a boy from Durmstrang."

"Yes, ma'am. Their school Champion, Viktor Krum, asked me."

"My sons let free that they had asked you, too?" Oh, Mrs. Weasley was in full mama-bear mode, Hermione could see that. Her mother got the same way.

"Yes, they did, but not for days. Still, we did dance together and that's when they asked if I'd be able to come here."

"Hm." Hermione waited, and she wasn't disappointed that she had. "You have to know, Hermione, that dating identical magical twins is not going to be easy."

She didn't pull any punches, did she? "No, ma'am, I don't imagine any worthwhile relationship is _easy_. But they did research and took notes for me—which I adored, by the way, because it was so perfect for me and they're very clever—so that I would be well informed as to what they were, er, thinking." Yes, _thinking_ was a better word than _proposing_. Especially in magical society. Yes.

"Are your parents aware of this?"

A palpable hit. "No, ma'am. But the notion of our being, well, official? I guess? Probably didn't happen until tonight, so the last time my parents saw your sons, we really were only friends. And, I guess, we have been for a while, in one way or another."

"So I've gathered." _And not happily, either, eh, Mrs. Weasley?_

Hermione was not a lion, but she wasn't a coward. She was all about self-preservation and seeking the advantage. At this moment, she decided she'd have to go on the offensive. "Mrs. Weasley, may I ask why you're suspicious of me?"

The woman sat back on her seat, clearly taken by surprise. Even her hair seemed to be startled. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean that you've evidenced concern about me from the first time you saw me."

"Well, you're—"

"Muggle-born? I understand your family is Pure-blood, and I have run into that prejudice at school."

"No, not at all. As if I'd be prejudiced. Some families consider the Weasleys to be blood traitors, actually, since we don't—absolutely do not—adhere to traditions."

"Then, what is it?" She was not going to make this easier.

Mrs. Weasley shifted in her chair before leaning forward and whispering, "How did my sons get involved with a _Slytherin_?"

Hermione sighed a little. "It took them years to get over the House prejudice, Mrs. Weasley. Now, we just have to deal with the prejudices of others." She folded her hands in her lap as if entirely comfortable. "And we are." Reminding herself that this was George and Fred's mum, she tried harder. "Mrs. Weasley, your sons and I have a lot in common, really. We all enjoy research, and the practical applications of magic. We want to make things better for others. We work hard to get what we want. They're in a House that the Headmaster favors and I'm in the House that everyone sneers at. It's just the way it is. But see, your sons have learned to see me for who I am. Hermione Granger. And honestly, I've always tried to see them as individuals, myself."

Mrs. Weasley looked as if she'd like to say more, but Fred dashed into the room, bringing life and excitement with him. "It's time! Come on, bring your cloaks and gloves. It's almost midnight!" He scanned the room, clear brown eyes searching until they lit upon Hermione and his mum sitting together. He half-jogged across the room, weaving through everyone until he reached them.

"Hey, Mum. Dad's got your cloak. C'mon, Hermione. _Accio_ , Hermione's cloak!" he called with a point and swish of his wand.

Despite the tense conversation she'd just had, Hermione found it in herself to laugh as her cloak came floating into the room, near the ceiling. "Thank you, Fred."

He bundled her up and led her outside, smiling at everyone along the way. "Sorry about Mum," he said, still smiling though his voice was a bit tense. He paused and turned to look at her with the light of the house slanting across his face. "You all right?"

"Of course. She's your mum. I'm fine."

"We can talk about it later, if you want."

"All right."

The night was that sharp, frozen kind of dark, where every star was a pinhole of light in the sky. The moon was new and it didn't interfere with the sheer brilliance of the night sky. Wrapped in her cloak, Hermione still felt cold air creeping up her bare legs, but was grateful for the lack of snow. Fred, his arm around her, led her to where George was crouched low to the ground.

"What're you doing?" she asked the pair when Fred joined his brother.

"Our surprise!"

"We're working on fireworks," George said, shifting to set something up.

"Ah! That will be lovely." She did enjoy fireworks. Not for the noise, which irritated her, but for the creativity that went into crafting such diverse displays of what were, basically, paper tubes filled with gunpowder.

It was minutes before midnight when the first creation was introduced. "Step back, 'Mione," Fred cautioned. "Just in case."

"These are still experimental, after all."

"Yeah, can't actually try them out beforehand."

Accordingly, she stepped back, but kept her focus on them in case something went wrong. At least, she did until the first pyrotechnic display exploded overhead!

All the guests were clustered together for warmth a bit of a distance away, but their shouts of pleasure and amazement were still audible. And, for Hermione, gratifying. Her wizards had created such wonders of light and magic. Her wizards were applying what they knew to a very tangible and practical event. Sure, it might be "only" fireworks, but to her, they were a representation of what Fred and George Weasley were capable of.

She felt warm all over, just thinking about it. "Your shop is going to be a total success," she predicted as the last flaring burst of colored lights faded from the sky. "I'm so impressed. You two . . . you perform brilliant magic."

They smelt faintly of sulphur as they wrapped her briefly in a group embrace. "Thank you. Glad you liked it," they murmured alternately, each into one side of her throat.

She smiled helplessly between them. "You're amazing, the pair of you. And each of you," she tagged on as they unwound themselves from around her.

They were pleased with her words, she could tell, even if their tone was casual. "Oh, you're just saying that because you like sparkly things."

George laughed and pulled lightly at the hem of her cloak as he crouched down to check the remainder of the fireworks set up. "Anyone who saw your dress tonight knows that, anyway."

"Hey, that was my mum's idea."

"She has good taste, then," Fred called back over his shoulder.

Then, the rest of the gathering converged upon the twins to express their appreciation and she allowed herself to get crowded out by them. Besides, it was freezing outside and a warm . . . something . . . seemed to be in order.

"Wait! The countdown!" Mrs. Weasley's strident voice carried over everyone else's. "Can't forget that!"

"Blimey! No!"

Hermione grinned and turned back to George and Fred, who had jumped up with a look of panic on their faces. "Hermione!"

She waited for them to get to her, though the entire population of the party was watching them until the countdown started.

"Five!"

They reached her and she took one of each of their hands.

"Four!"

Fred gasped. "Can't believe we almost forgot!"

"Three!"

"Midnight kissing. I remember," she said with half a smile.

"Two!"

"Fred first."

"One!"

"Got it."

"Happy New Year!"

And though Hermione already knew that she and the wizards who surrounded her had chemistry, their midnight kisses confirmed it and then some.

"Happy New Year," they said on a white-frosted breath.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** And "Merry Christmas" to those of my readers who so celebrate. _

_A grateful tip of my hat to **roon0** , who gave me "Gordon Bennett" for a bit of slang I didn't know before. Thanks!_

 _I won't be posting on this story tomorrow, but I will be posting a follow-up chapter on my story_ **Casting the Stake** _tomorrow, so if you like the Weasley men with Hermione, you are welcome to check it out. Spoiler: Babies!_

 _Next chapter for this story will go up on **Monday** , all things being equal. :) _


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight: Boundaries

_**A/N** : Welcome back! My thanks to everyone who is reading, rec'ing and reviewing this fic. :) Remember, if you have a question that you'd like me to answer, please ask it from an account to which you are signed in and for which you accept PMs. Thanks!_

 _Also, a bow and a wink to **Lioness32** , who caught review #1100! _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

 ** _The Burrow, 1 January 1995_**

"So that's what, now?" Hermione asked, leaning on the kitchen counter while Bill Weasley was brewing in three small cauldrons.

"Sober-Up," he said with a quick glance in her direction. "Always good to have the morning after a party. Mum ran out, though. I think she wasn't expecting quite so much, er, alcohol."

Hermione winced internally. Surely her one bottle of Muggle champagne wasn't to blame for that.

"You need some of this, Hermione?" he asked with a tolerant look.

"No, thank you. I'm fine." At her use of the word "fine", Bill sent her a wicked grin and she fought her blush furiously. "I mean, Mr. Weasley, that I was at no point intoxicated last night, so I have no occasion to sober up."

"Well done of you, I'm sure," he replied, turning the stirring wands anti-clockwise in each cauldron. "There. Should be good to go, now. So," he went on, turning fully to her. "Since you're up and alert, would you mind helping me decant these? Then I'll get some breakfast on. Mum's usually up and frying sausages by now, but I do believe she rather enjoyed the Muggle champagne you brought her."

This time, Hermione fought her blush successfully. "Thank you. I'd be happy to help. And I'm glad if your Mum liked her gift. That was the idea."

While they carefully measured and poured the Sober-Up Potion into phials that Bill had lined up on the long wooden table, he asked, "So, you and the twins?"

"As you saw, yes." She did not look at him, but focused on the potion. "You know, this looks rather like Madam Pomfrey's Pick-Me-Up."

"They're very similar, yes." He corked his phials and moved on to the next cauldron. "I'm not meaning to pry, Hermione. Not really. I am just wondering if you have any questions."

She angled him a look. "Have you dated identical twins before?"

He laughed. "No. But as you know, my uncles did, and—"

She interrupted with a shake of her head as she said, "They did the research, told me what they knew about your uncles, and even referenced a book on _Magical Multiples_ and so on. George and Fred wouldn't ask me to be with them blindly, you know. They're quite brilliant."

"Huh." He held himself still for a moment and she paused, too, her hands poised to pour another decanting. "That's good to know, on all counts." He cocked his head and studied her for a moment and she reminded herself that she had managed to wash that morning, even if she was dressed "full Muggle" in jeans, jumper, and trainers. She'd made sure to wear green, too. "You know, I think you'll do all right."

"Thank you."

* * *

It was well into the afternoon before Hermione was able to take a proper shower. Feeling much more the thing, she was sitting near the fire in the living room, holding a mug of hot chocolate while Fred and George got their own and joined her. She did enjoy watching them move, the pair of them, and was fascinated by their bantering. It was so lively, and sounded so spontaneous, yet she knew them. It was as if they knew what the other would say before it was said, and that was just amazing to her.

That they—astonishing wizards, both—wanted to be in a relationship with her was also amazing, but she didn't question it. They'd fit together since she was in her first year, even if it took them awhile to figure it out.

The house was quieter with the guests all sobered and gone home. Bill had left as well, heading to his own flat in London. Boudicca, she had seen earlier, was settled back in her cage, resting, as was Hedwig. Potter and Ron were playing exploding snap in Ron's room and Ginny had invited Luna Lovegood over and the two of them were looking at _Witch Weekly_ in Ginny's room.

She had no idea where the adults were, nor did she much care. Right now, she was focused on a very necessary conversation.

"Was Mum awful, last night?" Fred asked quietly, regarding her over the rim of his mug. "She looked flustered."

"Well, maybe she was. Same prejudices, you know. House stuff." Hermione took a comforting inhalation from her own mug. "She wanted to know how you two got involved with someone from my House." Shrugging, she met the gaze of each of the twins. "And she asked if my parents knew."

"That's something we wanted to talk about," George said, setting his drink down on the low table in front of them.

"Yeah," Fred continued. "How will they take it?"

"Honestly?" She hated to say this, but she had to, so she tried to remember to be kind, because she cared for them very much. "I don't want them to know I'm dating both of you. Not until I'm of age," she told them directly, not flinching from the hurt that flared in warm brown eyes. "Now, I'm not ashamed of you. Not in any possible way. You have to know that. I'm proud, I am. But my parents are Muggles, and we don't have triads as a regular thing in that world. It's seen as, as _deviant_. Inappropriate. Even illegal, in that three people can't legally marry." She blushed, because she hadn't meant to go there, but there she went. "So if my parents knew that their underaged teenager was in a romantic triad with two wizards, they might take me out of school." The boys gasped. "They might even take me out of the country. It's possible. They're very protective, just like your parents."

"Well," Fred allowed, staring into the fire. "That does put some color on it, doesn't it?"

"So what do we tell them?" George asked.

She sipped at her chocolate. "I recommend not telling them anything until I'm of age. You're my friends. They've been hearing about you since my first year, one way or another. The names George and Fred Weasley have been a part of my letters home forever. Why would that be any different now?"

"Because your _friends_ wouldn't be after snogging you senseless as soon as you walk in a room?" Fred suggested, turning to her with a spark in his eye. That was more like it.

"Nor would I be wishing for that," she admitted quietly. "From friends, you know. But, but you have to know, the pair of you, that—that's it's almost always been like that, for me." Vulnerability was not easy, but she was asking something hard from them, so she felt it was only right to relinquish something of hers. Like a bit of pride.

George's smile was tender. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Fred held is hand out to her and she set down her cup to join them on the smallish sofa. Snuggled between them, she felt more comfortable. They held hands and sighed all at one time. And then they chuckled. Together. And it felt grand.

"Okay. So what about at school?" she asked after a few quiet moments. "Your House?"

She felt George's sturdy shoulders move in a shrug as the fire crackled sharply. "I say we don't hide it. Not if you don't want to, Hermione. Triads aren't a problem in our world, though they're not usual. And we are identical twins, so it's not unheard of."

"What about with your House?" Fred asked, resting his head briefly atop hers.

"I don't know. No one's said anything about you lot, yet. If I'm dating two pure-blood wizards, will that be seen as good or bad? Will they hex me or congratulate me? I haven't any idea. We'll have to see."

Fred caught her chin with his finger. "So, we're open about us?"

"Absolutely. At least, at school."

* * *

 ** _2 January 1995_**

"So we've been trying to see if we can use that duplication charm on liquids."

They were in the Weasley kitchen the day before they were to head back to Hogwarts, and Hermione was leaning against one of the counters, wearing a U2 t-shirt from their Zooropa tour in 1993. When she went to the concert in France, she'd bought the shirt in a men's size, so that it wouldn't be immediately non-wearable as she had been growing again. And she was glad for it, because she could take it everywhere. It was soft and comfortable. Besides, she rather enjoyed tossing bits of Muggle culture out in the middle of a pure-blood world.

That day in early January, in said concert shirt and jeans, but bare of foot, she nodded at the display George was pointing to on the table. "We've got a metal cup here, like Moody's flask. And in it is some water, just in case we do something disastrous."

"You do lead dangerous lives," she acknowledged with a crooked smile. "What's been happening? And that isn't your wand."

Fred grinned. "No. It's Mum's!" He focused, lips compressed briefly before he did the twist with the wand required as he said " _Geminio_!"

A cup identical to the original appeared next to it on the table. Hermione smiled and met Fred's eye. "Looks very good."

"Well, yeah, you know, but inside?" He tipped the cup upside down and nothing came out. "Dry as the proverbial bone."

"Is the spell only focusing on what it hits first, then? Like, like with the flashcards? Those didn't have a lot of depth and there was, basically, only the one material involved."

"That's what I think," Fred said, Banishing the newest cup. He then took the original metal cup away and dumped out the water before putting it well away from his brother.

George took the wand. "I think it has to do with the fact that we can't see the liquid." He opened a cupboard and brought out a clear glass tumbler and filled it with water. " _Geminio_!" he called out in a clear voice.

This time, perhaps because of George's focus or perhaps because of the nature of the tumbler, the water itself was duplicated, plopping wetly on the table next to the glass tumbler before splashing into a formless puddle.

"Oh!" George exclaimed, thrusting the wand into the air and nearly hitting a heavy ceiling beam. "That's good, right there."

"Can you make metal transparent?" Hermione wondered, sliding a chair out and collapsing upon it. "Fred, you've got the Transfiguration O.W.L. Can you do that?"

He pursed his lips together to whistle. "That one's complicated, because metals are so dense and heavy, you know? I'd have to practice. And then practice transfiguring it to hold the shape with the liquid separate and inside."

Hermione bit her lip and studied the cup. "It might be easier to Stun him, steal the thing, pour out what's inside, _Obliviate_ him, and give it back."

George strode around the table to pull her up and wrap her in his arms in a most satisfactory manner. "You're a scary, scary girl, 'Mione." He gave her a hard, smacking kiss, though, so she imagined he wasn't too terribly frightened. "And I'm glad you're ours."

"And I'm glad you're mine," she told him, holding out her arm to Fred so he'd hurry to join them. "And hey. I just had a thought. Just now." She frowned and arched her neck to look at Fred. "You share."

"Yes," they said together, both of them nuzzling her where her neck sloped to her shoulders.

She shivered and sighed, which only made them do it again. It was rather amazing, how hot that made her, and their lips weren't even on hers. "All right," she managed to say, her voice uneven. "So, what if there's only one of you? Like if Fred's in detention and George is free and we find a broom closet—"

"No broom closets," George murmured against her shoulder. "Flitwick has some of them charmed and monitored."

"And he rotates. Bill told us."

"Sure he wasn't taking the mickey?" she asked, moving restlessly between them. She ran one hand up one twin's arm, the other up the other. They felt quite similar, which didn't surprise her, really. She squeezed a bit, and they flexed for her. At the same time. Which made her smile.

"Pretty sure."

"Don't want to risk it," Fred told her, his voice thick. "But you were asking about just being with one of us, right?" He gripped her hips and she had to let go of his arm, but she honestly didn't care just them. Feeling his fingers moulding to her shape was enough stimulation.

She let her head drop back so that it rested against his shoulder. "Yeah. I don't want to step on toes or, or anything. Your relationship is important to me."

"I think I want to keep her," George whispered before he mouthed her throat.

She moaned and ran her hands up his chest and Fred took her lips in a kiss so immediately hot that all conversation was burned utterly away.

* * *

 ** _King's Cross Station, 3 January 1995_**

They came through the Floo and George immediately reached for Hermione, making sure she and Boudicca had made the transition without discomfort. Their girl leaned into him, kissing his jaw as Fred wrapped her up at the same time.

Rather a bold move, George decided, but it certainly made their whole "Be open about us" policy very evident.

Which had its downside.

"Slag."

"Mudblood whore."

"How many of them are you _doing_ , Mudblood?"

Fred had never felt so furious. Not in all his life. Not the time that George got targeted in a Quidditch game and dropped from his broom. Not the time when Ron had been bullied by some random idiots in Diagon Alley when he'd been only five. It was close to how mad he'd felt when he found that Ginny had been possessed by You-Know-Who, though.

Which should have told him something, but it didn't.

They had arrived at King's Cross Station via the Floo, that morning. This was due to having two owls with them (and Dad had not found out that both Harry and Hermione had contributed surreptitiously to the Floo Powder Fund on the mantle, but that was just fine with Fred) and having so many people who needed to get to the train. He and George, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and Harry. As well as Mum and Dad. Eight humans and two animals. "There has to be a better way to do this," he had muttered to Hermione.

"I'll work on that. After the Moody thing. And the Tournament," she had responded with that dry tone she adopted so often.

She had huddled with Harry at their fireplace, as the owls seemed to want to be sociable. This had made Ron pink around the ears, but George had been glad to see that their threats against their brother held. Nothing like a warning about being an unwitting product tester to make a lad behave.

But nothing, he felt, would stop the abuse being heaped on Hermione's name. Ever since she had been seen waiting on Platform 9 3/4, holding hands with him and his twin, students and parents had given them long, questioning glances. When Ron and Harry arrived, they had clustered together in a group of five while Ginny Floo'd through with their parents.

At the first slur, Harry had moved in closer, bending down to soothe a ruffled Boudicca while Hedwig made comforting sounds. Ron glared at anyone who muttered such things, if they weren't of their House. George moved so that instead of holding Hermione's hand, he wrapped her shoulders with one arm. Fred held her waist, feeling how tense and unyielding she was under his fingers.

But Hermione herself showed no outward sign at all of hearing the wankers and their slurs. She addressed Harry about ordering more Tyto Treats, while leaning first into Fred and then into George. Her expression remained smooth and at ease. Only her body was tensed to run or hex, Fred didn't know which.

When Mum and Dad drew near, the comments ceased. "So, then, there you go. Hermione, don't forget to owl your parents when you get to school. I know they must be anxious with you having been away for a time."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Weasley."

"And good luck with your O.W.L.s!" he added cheerfully.

Hermione's eyes widened and Fred had to give her an extra squeeze. "You'll get Os. You know that. Best marks in the school, likely."

"I'll try," she whispered. Sure, the insults thrown at her didn't make her lose her poise, but the idea of not being brilliant on her exams knocked her for a loop.

Dad tapped Fred's shoulder and wordlessly asked him to follow him off for a bit. Nodding, Fred kissed Hermione's cheek, jerked his chin toward his father, and with a look, made sure that George would stay glued to Hermione's side.

"Do you have money for the trip up?" Dad asked, his expression earnest once they'd roamed out of earshot.

Baffled, Fred thrust his hands in his pockets. "Um, a bit, yeah. Everything all right, Dad?"

"Well, I know you'll be traveling with her, of course, and I wanted to make sure—"

Mortified, Fred mustered a smile anyway. "No worries, Dad. We'll be fine. You know Mum sends stuff up with us anyway, yeah?"

Dad looked a bit relaxed but then he tugged at his shirt collar and Fred tensed up again. What else was on Dad's mind?

"Good, good." His father paused, coughed, and blushed a bit. Fred felt a dreadful, clammy certainty what the true concern was, for his father, and he really wished this wasn't happening.

"Dad, no. I mean—"

"No, now, it's my duty as your father," he said with a stern light to his eyes that was rarely seen by the family at large. "You need to treat that girl with respect. She's Muggle-born, just for starters, and this will all be unusual for her. They don't think the way we do."

"Dad, we'll be fine."

"You know your spells, in case things get out of hand? Don't shake your head at me, son. It's important. You'll mean well, I'm sure, but you're young and—"

"Stop. Please." Fred wanted the platform to swallow him whole. "We know them. Bill's given us a speech. You've given us a speech. Mum gave Hermione a speech . . . Merlin!"

His father studied him for a long moment before digging some a few Galleons out of his pocket. "Here. A good a reason as any for my having pulled you away, yeah?"

Surprised gratitude cooled Fred's cheeks. He laughed. "Yeah. Thanks, Dad."

"See you this summer."

"We'll be here!"


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine: Plan in Motion

_**A/N:** For the occasional random menu items I use throughout this story, I give credit to **The Harrow School** in England. I figured Hogwarts was rather a posh boarding school, so it might not be too different. Although, Hogwarts has far less variety than Harrow, on average._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Nine**

 ** _Hogwarts, 7 January 1995_**

The good thing about being in Advanced Defense was that she was learning wicked nonverbal hexes. And, in Charms, she'd learned a lovely new spell: _Homenum Revelio_. This charm revealed all human presences in a given area, even if said presences had rendered themselves invisible through one means or another.

Pansy Parkinson, a fourth year with her nose so far into pure-blood air as to render her virtually incapable of human interaction, had Disillusioned herself to get into the fifth year bathroom. " _Carpe Retractum_!" she'd called out.

This had caught half-naked Hermione by surprise, but it had been the kind of week where she had not dared leave her bed without casting a personal _Protego_ about herself again. When the Seize and Pull charm had been cast, Hermione knew it had been deflected without having to do anything more. " _Homenum Revelio_ ," she had called instead.

And there was Parkinson, fuming. _Stupefy_! Hermione cast soundlessly, pointing her wand—which had been in her hair, keeping it off of her neck—at the younger girl. She also cast a cushioning charm so that Parkinson wouldn't get hurt as she fell over. Hermione didn't want the younger girl any more vengeful than she already would be. "Look, Parkinson. I don't know what your problem is, but leave me alone. I'm two years ahead of you in Defense. Don't be stupid. _Mobilicorpus_." With a flick of her wand, Hermione lifted Parkinson off the floor and floated her to the middle of the fifth year dorm. "Shana?" she called. "Would you do us all a favor and escort Parkinson to her dorm room? I'm trying to take a shower."

She heard a throaty laugh from her roommate's bed. "She's totally jealous of you, you know. Because of the twins. Parkinson's been lusting after them since September."

Hermione smirked privately. "Well, they're not available."

* * *

"Viktor? What happened to your hair?" The Durmstrang Champion, and her good friend, had blond streaks peppered throughout his short hair.

"Marko. Do not ask," Viktor replied with a resigned expression. "So. I am going to the lake today, vith the egg. Vill you come?"

She shivered just thinking about being in the lake in early January. "You're sure it's not frozen over?"

His laugh boomed out over half the hall, and all of his schoolmates' with it.

Stasia shook her head. " _Nyet_. We have all been swimming over the break, Hermione. Well, those of us who did not have special Portkeys to go home." She angled a smile at Viktor and Oliver, who both blushed a little.

"It seems," Hermione mused with a deliberately teasing tone, "that I missed something whilst I was home?"

Viktor smiled a little, meeting her eyes warmly. " _Da_. Later. Ve can talk later. In the lake," he added with a toss of his head.

"Fine. I think." Then, she remembered George and Fred. They had planned on having lunch with her and then spending time together in the Library this afternoon. Having boyfriends meant she needed to take them into consideration. They had plans. She could work with that. They were at their table this morning and she looked up to find them watching her. "Just a second, all right?"

Standing, she beckoned to Fred and George and moved to the side of the Hall. This way, anyone could see they were just going to talk and no one would be able to say she'd been inappropriate. Just because she didn't comment on the slurs didn't mean she hadn't heard them.

George offered her a slice of bacon. "Saw you weren't eating a whole lot, this morning. You all right?" He leaned against the wall with one shoulder. Fred stood next to him and Hermione had her back to the wall. It was instinct. "I mean, you know, in your House?"

"Oh, nothing terrifying, no. But what I wanted to ask was if I could meet you for lunch here? In the Hall?"

The boys exchanged a puzzled look. "Wasn't that the plan?"

"Yeah. But Viktor asked me to go with him to the lake this morning. He's going to open the egg under the water. How'd Potter do with that, by the way? Did he take notes after trying again?"

They ignored that last. "Just you and Krum?" Fred asked with a scowl.

"He didn't say. Would you like to join us? I thought you two were working on projects this morning."

"We're working on a new candy. Thing."

"Portable Magic?" she asked with a lifted brow.

They nodded and darted a quick look about the Hall. George jerked his chin in Viktor's direction. "It's bloody freezing out there, 'Mione. And I'm pretty sure you didn't bring one of your French bikinis, right?" The smile he gave her was intimate, knowing, and Hermione blushed and let herself do so because it would make them happy.

Fred tugged on a curl of her hair. "Make sure he does a warming charm, yeah? You sure it'll be all right? He did ask you to the ball."

She took one of each of their hands, uncaring if anyone remarked upon it. "He did. And I had a good time. But you see, I went home with these two other lads, didn't I? Handsome gingers, good shoulders, Quidditch players, the pair of them. Did I mention they're brilliant wizards?"

Fred feigned surprise. "Well, I'd like to meet these paragons of virtue."

"So would I. We could do lunch." George brought her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. "Stay warm. And no bikini, all right?"

"I'm thinking to try to get him to charm my jeans and jumper, actually."

"Good thinking."

* * *

Fred transfigured his napkin into a small towel. "Sorry, love, but you're going to be dripping onto my spaghetti. A man's got to eat." He wrapped the ends of Hermione's hair in the towel and did a small, focused, binding spell so it stayed wrapped there.

"Sorry, Fred. I don't know a lot of personal care spells. I'll look some up. Do you know a drying charm?"

He shook his head. "No, but Gin might. I can ask. How'd it go at the lake?" He'd been dying to ask, as had George. They had both wanted to take her up on the invitation to join her and Krum, but had independently decided against it. That they found out they'd been thinking exactly the same thing had only reinforced their belief that they'd done the right thing.

They hadn't dared to give any impression that they didn't trust Hermione, was what it was. They did trust her. Not Krum, but her. And she hadn't worn a bikini. They'd checked. What were brooms for if not to fly?

Hermione preferred tea, so a pot had appeared for her at their table. She poured. "It went well. The egg didn't screech when it opened, as he'd said." She looked directly at Harry. "Did you ever write down the clue in its entirety? It's important."

Ron sneered. "Oh, I suppose you did? In the water and everything?"

Hermione's smile was cool and disdainful. Fred didn't blame her one bit, even if that look was directed at his younger brother. "Of course. I used the Impervius Charm."

"But that repels liquid, and ink is a liquid," Ron retorted, his mouth filled with half-masticated pasta.

Hermione didn't drop her gaze. "Of course. But I didn't use ink to write on the paper. I used a solid."

Harry spluttered, hastily mopping up pumpkin juice with his napkin. "Thank you! I can do that. I have a pencil somewhere."

Hermione reached around to her back and Fred, gentleman though he was trying to be, with a wet girlfriend next to him, couldn't help but stare at her chest as she did so. She wasn't a big girl, in that region, but she was perfect as far as he was concerned.

Maybe he made some sort of sound, because she paused and sent him that arched brow look that was quite intimidating. "Did you need something, Fred?"

He squirmed a bit but shook his head. "I'm good, thanks."

After another moment with that same arch look, Hermione finished fishing about in her rear pocket. "Here, Potter. Proven pencil. You just have to cast your own _Impervius_."

"Thanks, Granger," Harry said, taking the pencil and tucking it behind one ear. How it fit with glasses, Fred didn't know.

The rest of lunch was comfortable. No one in Gryffindor called Hermione names at the table. When Fred considered it later, he got depressed that his idea of "comfortable" was identified chiefly because no one was insulting his girlfriend to her face.

And it was their fault, his and George's. Sort of.

* * *

 ** _3 February 1995_**

George appeared really excited when he entered the Library after lunch that day. Hermione was expecting both him _and_ Fred, but was sure George would explain everything shortly.

He was wearing the school uniform, but definitely not "in decorum" as the handbook would have it. His tie was dangling loosely from around his neck, his shirt tails showed under his jumper, and his grin made her think that being out of decorum was perfect.

"We've got it worked out, 'Mione," he said after dropping a kiss to her cheek. "For the temperamental problem."

They had decided weeks ago to quit referring to is as the moody thing because "moody" caught in the ear too readily, what with their DADA professor sporting that name.

"Temperamental! That's going to make people think we're talking about me and PMT," she had objected.

Both the twins put their hands over their ears. "No, no. Not talking about _that_ this early in our relationship."

Their _temperamental problem_ it remained.

After George sat down and turned in his chair to face her, she took his hands. "Well?"

"I focus on the insides, he focuses on the outside."

"Cryptic becomes you, sweetheart," she said as he nodded slowly. Seeing what he said in her mind, she added, "Wow. Why didn't we think of that before?"

"Dunno, but we've practiced and I think we can do it. We'll just have to get him really, really distracted." He regarded her speculatively.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Well, we think we want you to be a swot and teach us again," he suggested with an uncertain air. "Think you could do a lesson on resisting the _Imperius_?"

"Again?"

* * *

 ** _6 February 1995_**

"You know, those boys cannot keep their eyes from you," Stasia remarked at breakfast. She was drinking coffee—the house-elves made her a small pot every morning and it was at her usual place at the table. Hermione had tea. The small creatures really were extraordinary and she spared a brief thought as to how they got that way, but it didn't linger long. The twins were far more interesting.

She smiled at Stasia's comment. "I do my share of looking as well, you know."

The Russian chuckled. "We know. But I could see it our first day, remember? When they came for you after the tooth hex."

Hermione still hated the memories of that. It had been humiliating. Malfoy had even had the gall to try it again, but it hadn't worked. Of course. Stasia was right, though. George and Fred had come through for her in a big way, that evening. "They were wonderful."

"I am glad you have them. And they are lucky to have you." The older girl nodded decisively. "You could perhaps come to visit, all of you, my family this summer. I will write."

Surprised at the seeming non-sequitur, Hermione said, "That would be lovely. I've never been to Russia. But, pardon me, why all three of us?"

"Have I not told you?" Stasia paused and looked embarrassed, which was a very, very rare occurrence. "Sorry. My parents are a _triada_. As with you and your Weasleys. My fathers are twin brothers who married my mother."

Hermione could not have controlled the surprised smile that exploded on her face if she had tried. "Really? That's remarkable. I—I will probably have many questions for you, if I might talk to you about it sometime."

"Of course. And the offer this summer. I will write to my parents. Do you and they have an . . . understanding?"

Her blush went unchecked. "Formally? No. But, we're young, yet."

"They are pure-blood?" At Hermione's nod, Stasia continued. "As you may have seen, pure-blood families often marry young."

"But his brothers haven't, yet. The eldest is in his mid-twenties and entirely unattached, as far as I could tell at New Year's. Their mum told me that they are considered to be blood traitors. What is that?"

Stasia sent a look to Viktor, who had been listening with an amused expression on his lean, swarthy features. "You should tell her, Viktor."

Viktor took a drink of his own tea and finished off his bacon. "Vell," he said at length. "There are many kinds. If pure-blood marries one who is not magic, they are blood traitor. If a pure-blood supports, how to say, same things, same treatment?"

"Equality?"

" _Da_. That." He appeared uncomfortable and met Stasia's eye for a moment. "For many, any time pure-blood supports _equality_ for nonmagical people, or who spends much time vith them, they are considered traitors. To their own family and to the, the whole magical society."

Hermione listened, putting pieces of an extensive puzzle together as she did so. "It's because they think that the blood is really different, right?"

Marko, who had consumed what appeared to be half a loaf of toast as well as a plateful of eggs and beans, nodded as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Many of our families as well, Hermione."

Oliver, who was sitting on Stasia's other side, chimed in. "It's not pretty, we know. But it's the truth of it. The Weasleys are considered blood traitors by most of English pure-bloods. My family included."

Hermione stiffened. "They're not traitors to anything except prejudicial behaviors," she stated firmly. "I'll not hear them called such."

Oliver held up a hand. "I'm not calling them anything except gingers." At that, Hermione relaxed a bit. "But it's something you should know."

"I'd only heard about being a Mudblood," she muttered. "I need more tea. Thank you all for helping me understand."

After everyone had finished and Hermione was getting ready to get to Defense, where she had pledged to help distract Professor Moody—if he was even Moody to begin with—Viktor asked her to give him a moment.

"Hehrmyoni, I know how to stay under water for over an hour." Viktor's French was still better than his English, but these days, he usually did his best with her language unless he was talking about the Tournament.

Shifting her school bag on her shoulder, she gestured for him to explain. "I am going to try personal body change."

"Transfiguration?" she blurted out in whispered English. Then, she glanced around quickly, dismayed in case they had been overheard. Why hadn't she used _Muffliato_?

But no one was listening. Viktor repeated the word quietly. "An animal that can breathe and fight in the water."

"Won't you tell me what it is?"

"Not until I get it right," he said. "Do you know anything to read about this?"

"I'll go to the Library after class. But you could go now, if you want. Madam Pince knows a translation spell."

"Ve vill see."

* * *

"Hermione," Fred called, beckoning to her before she reached her seat in Defense. Moody wasn't there yet—he was rarely present before he had to be. "Ready?"

"How am I supposed to change the entire curriculum for the lesson?" she wondered.

George smiled into her eyes. "If anyone can do it, it's you."

"But this is a N.E.W.T. level course. I don't want anyone else ready to hex me," she told them, looking around at the rest of the class. Divided into Slytherins on one side and Gryffindors on the other, nothing had apparently changed all year, except that the twins added an extra chair to a surprisingly longer table for them to share. And Moody never seemed to notice that the table was longer.

Fred patted her on the shoulder. "Having less than half a class devoted to something this interesting—"

"And entertaining!"

"Won't get you hexed."

"Thanks," she said on a sigh. "So, I get him so involved with me and my awesome powers of mind resistance and you do your transfigurations and then what?"

"One of us will dash up to our lab in our dorm and figure out what this is. And Moody, if we're good, will never know."

"How will you get out?"

"Portable Magic!" Fred told her with a wink.

The door from the professor's office opened with a bang and Professor Moody stomped into the classroom, putting his omnipresent flask back into its holster on his belt and wiping his lips with his sleeve.

Unsanitary, but Hermione was more concerned with how to get him to talk about something other than more practice with nonverbal spells.

"Right then!" Moody said, his voice fairly booming and echoing off the angles of the room. "Today! Casting _Levicorpus_ without opening your mouth!"

The class groaned. Nonverbals were hard to learn and it seemed the hardest thing was not opening your mouth while casting. Moody would hex if he thought a student were even whispering a nonverbal.

Hermione raised her hand. "Professor Moody?" She had an idea.

He seemed to list a little to one side as he brought his artificial eye to focus on her. "Yes, Granger."

She volunteered often in this class, per her Head of House's suggestion/directive, so being forward would not be unusual. "Has anyone ever cast an _Imperio_ nonverbally? I mean, it seems like it would be handy for the target or anyone nearby not to know what happened. Right?"

"Bloody hell, 'Mione, you're a brilliant witch," George whispered. Fred nudged her foot with one of his—a gesture of affection he adopted as peculiar to himself.

There was a rustle in the room which indicated that she had made a point people were considering, so George's whisper went undetected. Hermione sat as if she hadn't heard it herself, though she was gratified that the boys approved of her apparent-to-them plan.

Moody's face, disfigured as it was, expressed astonishment. "You know. I haven't tried that one, Granger. Let's do that now. You've volunteered."

Though she had expected this, Hermione made it her business to look surprised and dismayed. Slowly, she rose from her seat, hoping that the professor would not do anything that involved either of her boyfriends. They had a job to do. As she moved, she walked so that Moody would have to turn a bit to give Fred and George a clear view of the flask he wore.

All while looking brave but worried. _I hope this works!_

She didn't have training in the mind arts, as Professor Snape had, and she wondered if she should seek special tutoring in that sometime soon. Still, she did her best to focus on her own mental space and hoped again that George and Fred wouldn't be involved. There was a buzz of interest in the room, now.

"Wonder if she'll kiss _me_ this time," Terrence Higgs sneered from his seat.

"You don't want her to touch you, Higgs," Stimpson said while studying her nails. "She's . . . dirty."

Hermione felt more than saw George and Fred tensing up at their housemate's slur, but she was glad when they remembered the big picture.

"No one will be kissing anyone," the professor declared, hand in the air. "But, all right, Miss Granger. Let's see if I can do an nonverbal Imperious Curse on you." He flicked his hand and his wand appeared in it. He must have had a holster under his robes. "Ready?"

She swallowed and told her heart to calm down. She had to fight this and keep his focus so much on her that he wouldn't notice the twins. "I'm ready, sir."

He frowned and shifted uncomfortably on his wooden leg. "All right, then." He pointed his wand at her forehead from a distance of about a meter.

And, she didn't feel anything at first, so she looked at him and then out at the class at large, carefully not looking at either George or Fred. There were snickers from students in red ties and green.

Moody swore under his breath. Hermione heard him also make a remark about her being a Mudblood that, frankly, surprised her. She kept her focus on his face, though, hoping to be able to be strong enough to resist if he did figure out how to do the Unforgivable nonverbally.

Eventually, after a few obvious, unsuccessful attempts, and with sweat dripping from his thinning hair down his temples to his jowls, Moody managed it.

 _Turn around, little girl. Turn around like a ballerina. Spin! Spin! Spin!_

She considered resisting this one, and she might have been able to do so, but something in the way he was holding his wand made her think that she should capitulate.

Or maybe that was the silent _Imperius_?

So she let her eyes glaze over and assumed the First Position that she remembered from an old ballet class. Then, she began an Arabesque and quickly did a Pirouette. Once, twice, three times, per the instruction Moody had given her.

She had to give the boys more time, though, so, she moved faster. No longer was she performing class-worthy Pirouettes, but she was spinning. Spinning faster and faster, barely aware of the laughter and comments from her classmates.

Finally, she heard, "Enough!" but she hadn't heard it in her mind, so she kept going until she finally heard him cough and then, in her mind, _Finite Incantatem_.

She dropped to the floor, spent and gasping, with one foot cramping to a painful degree. A quick look to George and Fred got her the barest of nods so, relieved, she pushed herself to her feet and met Moody's eyes again.

"I guess it's harder to resist when it's nonverbal, Miss Granger?" Moody said, his expression smug. Sweaty, but smug.

"Once it was cast, it was, yes, sir." She made a show of lifting her hair off her neck to cool down. "Thank you, sir. So how do we resist that?"

"Good question. Find us an answer, since you asked it. Ten inches of parchment by next week." He wiped perspiration from his skin and turned to face the class at large. "Now. Where were we?"

Next to Hermione, George made an awful sound. "Pro- Professor? I'm feeling, feeling really ill."

Moody scowled at him as if he couldn't decide if this were legitimate or not. After clomping across the floor to George, he stared at him. Did the magic eye detect candy-induced illness?

Apparently not. "Eh. Go on. To Madam Pomfrey. Now."

George swept up his bag, put his hand dramatically over his mouth, and darted for the door. Retching sounds followed until the door was completely closed.

"I hope it's not contagious," Hermione said to Fred.

"Me, too."

* * *

George Vanished the mess on the floor. Orange hued vomit was not his favorite thing, but wasn't it lovely to know the Puking Pastille worked so well?

He'd make a note of how long it took. Later. First, he had to get up to their room. Avoiding people was easy; most everyone was in class at this hour. He gave the password to the Fat Lady and entered the common room, his mind full of Hermione's legs.

Well, why not? She looked amazing, doing that dancing stuff right in front of the class. He had no idea she danced. Not like that. She must have taken lessons. He grinned, remembering how her toes were pointed in her heavy black shoes. He could see her legs, even though she was wearing black tights. Taut and trim and perfect, all the way up to where the hem of her robe rode up her leg, spin after spin. And her hair! It was glorious, all over her shoulders after every turn.

A man could fantasize, couldn't he?

Up in their dorm room, he wiped the smile from his face and approached the mirror on top of the chest of drawers. He had a job to do. He and Fred had worked hard and long to pull this off because Hermione was convinced there was something dodgy about their DADA professor. She had her reasons, too, and they were enough for him and Fred to give this project priority over the past several weeks.

"And now, for it," he told his reflection in the small mirror. "Let's see if I did a good job of duplicating what was in that flask. Blimey, I hope this won't be a cock up. Maybe I should wait for—no. No time. This could go bad in a moment. Bottom's up!" He unstoppered the flask and poured the contents into his mouth. _I hope she appreciates this_ , he thought as the first disgusting taste hit his tongue.

"Gah!" He saw his own horrified countenance in the mirror and had to smile at himself, even as a strange feeling overtook him. The mirror was necessary to note changes, and he had to, in case something went wrong, he'd have to be able to tell Fred—or Pomfrey or Hermione—what had happened.

But then, even as he watched, he changed. He felt as if his body was being attacked by a rolling pin, like his mum used when she baked pies sometimes. And then he was being pummeled by garden gnomes.

But then, as he watched in his mirror, his face fleshed out, his hair thinned and lightened, and he developed this uncanny blue eye…

"Well, bugger me, Merlin. I'm Moody!"

* * *

 _A/N: I had way too much fun figuring this out. Next time: Their first Valentine's Day!_


	31. Chapter Thirty: Valentines' Day

_**A/N:** Now, there's a bit of a jump here, but don't be dismayed. I didn't forget the Polyjuice discovery. However, I've confined myself to limited perspectives and SOME ADULTS think that keeping young people in the loop is not important._

 _Thank you again and again for reading, adding this story to your lists, and for reviewing! A deep curtsy to **Siriusmunchkin** , who's been putting up with me and my imagination for years here on FFn. She caught review #1200!_

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty**

 ** _Hogwarts, 14 February 1995_**

"So glad it's not pink in here this year."

"D'you suppose the staff holds a drawing to see who gets to decorate?"

Fred laughed. "I'd say Snape won, this year." He and George looked all around the Great Hall, but there was no indicator that it was, indeed, a day any different from any other day of the year.

As they arrived at the Gryffindor table, the morning owls arrived, just as Harry came dashing in, looking harried but amused. This morning, predictably, there was a horde of owls bearing envelopes and packages in red and white. "Hey, Fred?"

"Yeah?"

"What's a group of owls called?"

"Dunno."

Harry stood so that Hedwig could reach him. Arm out, he said, "Parliament. A group of owls is a parliament."

Everyone that heard him laughed out loud. "You're joking."

The Boy-Who-Knew-Owls shook his head and greeted his snowy white familiar. "No joke, guys. Ask Granger. She knows everything, apparently. Oh, look, there's _her_ MP." He smiled, then, which had been a rarity that year.

George regarded the younger boy thoughtfully and whispered to his brother, "We need to get him to laugh more."

"Yeah."

"Oi, Boudicca!"

The bright-eyed owl dropped off one letter addressed to both of them. _Mr. Weasley & Mr. Weasley,_ it said in Hermione's diligent script. Fred reached for the bacon plate, broke a piece up and offered it to the owl on his flattened palm. Boudicca, he had learned, liked to choose her own treats. "Open it," he told George.

"I'm feeling guilty," his brother confessed. "I mean, I know we have plans for later and all, but we didn't send _her_ anything this morning."

"So long as we haven't forgotten, she'll be all right with it." Fred hoped so, anyway. He looked across the hall, but Hermione wasn't there. Krum and the rest of the people she usually breakfasted with were all eating, but Hermione wasn't around. "Where is she?"

All around them, they could hear girls giggling and showing off cards that came for them, along with chocolates and such. Some of the lads received gifts as well. They weren't giggling, though. It was more of a manly nudge-nudge, wink-wink sort of thing. Well, at least Hermione wouldn't feel bad not getting something from them, since she wasn't there.

"Did she mention anything happening this morning?" Fred wondered aloud.

George poured them each some pumpkin juice. "No. Snape's gone, too."

"Huh."

George opened their letter from Hermione then, and they angled in toward one another in case there was anything not-for-public-viewing within.

 _Dear George & Fred~_

 _There's something in_

 _A certain place —_

 _That you might call_

 _Your private space._

 _In case of emergencies,_

 _Or something tragic,_

 _It's good to have_

 _Some Portable Magic._

 _Can you find it?_

 _Can you guess?_

 _What I have hidden_

 _Under my - - - - -?_

 _Happy Valentine's Day, my wizards._

 _Your_

 _Hermione_

"Oh, our girl is being naughty again," George whispered, delighted anticipation zinging through him like lightning.

Fred couldn't seem to catch his breath. "How did she do that? Make me all, like _this_ ," he went on with a gesture down at his school robes that George intimately understood, "with just _words_?"

"Girl _is_ the smartest witch in her year."

"Smartest witch in any year, for my Galleon."

"And she's all ours." George smiled, feeling smug. "Let's go find it!"

"Wait. Let's eat and bring her something, too. In case she didn't get a chance, yeah?"

"And then we can go to our room and look for It."

"And pick up her present."

"Right, then."

Next to them, Harry chuckled softly. "What?" Fred demanded of him.

Harry seemed to make a valiant effort at smoothing his expression. "Nothing. I promised."

George waved a piece of bacon around and Boudicca took it away from him with an angry series of squawks. "Oh, come on! You know what she's up to?"

"I promised!" Harry countered, smiling all over his face. "Have to say, it's nice to see someone getting one over on _you_ two."

Professor McGonagall strode up then, her face set in lines that did their best to take the _Happy_ out of their _Valentine's Day_. "Your presence is requested, Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley."

"So good, they named us twice, Gred!" George stated, his smile weak but there.

Worry tugged at Fred's chest. Again. "What is it, Professor?"

She looked sternly down her nose at the pair of them. "It is a matter of some delicacy. Come with me. Now." She turned and hurried away, her pointed hat bobbing a bit with the energy of her strides.

Fred stood and tugged uncomfortably at his shirt collar and tie. George folded Hermione's poem/puzzle and hitched his robe up to put the parchment in a pocket. "Think it's about her?"

"Why would McGonagall see us about _her_?"

"Merlin, I don't know. Let's go."

They half ran down the length of the table to catch up with McGonagall. "Tricky bird, our Head," George said as they reached her.

Fred nodded. "Where're we going? And have you seen Hermione Granger?"

"Come with me," was all she said.

"It's not our family, is it?" George asked in a subdued tone. Fred nodded, remembering when there'd been an emergency not too many years before, involving Ginny.

At that, McGonagall halted and turned to face them, her eyes sincere behind her glasses. "No, not at all. Do not agitate yourselves on that score. All right, up to the Headmaster's. Let's go."

 _Shite_ , Fred thought.

 _Bloody hell_ , George thought.

"What did we do now?" they asked together.

"All will be explained in mere minutes, if you could but hold your tongues!" They reached the bottom of the spiral staircase and she murmured something to the gargoyle. The mechanism that governed the stair went into action and soon, they were on their way up to Dumbledore's office.

George was not feeling good about that. He reached briefly for Fred's hand. They reassured one another thus, as they always had, before letting go of each other.

"Welcome, Messrs. Weasley," Headmaster Dumbledore said expansively as they entered his oddly cluttered but not crowded office.

"Hermione," Fred whispered, relief trickling through him like cool water on a hot day.

George grinned and crossed the office to reach her side. "Missed you this morning. Got your note."

Her eyes twinkled, but she didn't really smile at all. "I'm glad. Missed you both as well."

"Lovely. Now that we're all here, Headmaster?" Professor Snape's dark tone was as sarcastic as ever and it was only then that either twin noticed he was there.

Hermione, of course, was thoroughly comfortable with him. He was her Head of House and, as far as they knew, she'd never had a detention with him.

McGonagall settled into a dignified chair off to one side, opposite Snape. Hermione nodded quickly at two chairs that were empty as the others sat around. They took them—Fred next to Hermione and George next to Fred.

The Headmaster remained standing. "Thank you for coming, gentlemen. You're here because you were instrumental in discovering a grave wrong and we wanted you to know how it is being righted."

"Indeed," Snape drawled.

Dumbledore appeared to ignore that. "And to ask for your help again."

George and Fred looked first to one another, then to Hermione, then to Dumbledore. "What?" they asked on a breath.

Snape made a negligent motion with one hand. "You actually listened to Miss Granger, who proved to be as brilliant as any in my House, and got proof that our Defense Professor is a fraud."

Fred nodded; they knew this. "And?"

"And we've found the real Alastor Moody," Dumbledore told them, his eyes twinkling, but not with joy. "He's an old and good friend of mine, and I was incensed to find he'd been kidnapped and held captive."

"In a trunk," Hermione whispered incredulously.

"Indeed. The pretend professor is due, we think, to get more hair for his potion any day now. We're not sure how long it was, before, in between batches."

"How long does—?"

Snape answered. "One can brew Polyjuice up in a large batch in advance, to add hair for identities as needed. We found Moody through the use of a few location and finding spells—"

"Professor Lupin's been instrumental in all of this," McGonagall inserted with a nod.

Snape looked unimpressed, as always. "He was in a corridor, Disillusioned. _You_ might be familiar with the location," he added with that lifted brow that intimidated everyone but Slytherins.

Hermione's voice was quite matter-of-fact. "The thing is this, they found him and they're taking care of him, now, but we have to pretend that the _faux_ professor—"

"Professor Polyjuice, eh?" George suggested with half a smile. He couldn't resist the joke.

Hermione answered his smile with her own. "As you like. Yes. We have to pretend he's the real deal until he trips the detection charm on Auror Moody's former location. We're the only ones who can know."

"Ah. Super secret, yeah?" Fred asked.

"We can do that."

Snape snorted, but McGonagall turned a bit in her chair to face them fully. "Be sure of this, boys. If you cannot, it's nothing against you, but we'd probably send you home until the situation resolves, here."

"Or we could _Obliviate_ you," Snape suggested with a smirk.

"No, no, Severus. No need for that, here. I'm sure." Dumbledore regarded the twins with interest. "Well?"

George, just to pull on Snape's chain a bit, cocked his head toward Hermione. "Don't suppose you're worried about her keeping the secret?"

"Of course not," Snape snapped without hesitation. "She's proven herself to me for years. And she's the one that noticed the original discrepancy. Left to the rest of the school—me, included, for I never have cared to spend time with Moody—whomsoever it is would have had a free run of it for the rest of the year."

"Quite." Dumbledore stroked his beard. "And with the Tournament, there is undoubted mischief afoot. Likely having to do with Mr. Potter. So. You'll keep it to yourselves."

"Yes, sir," Fred, Hermione, and George said as one.

The Headmaster smiled beatifically at them. "Good, good. Off with you, then. I know it's Valentine's Day and some of us," he said with a wistful air, "will enjoy celebrating."

* * *

The boys were waiting for her after Herbology. Sixth year had their lesson before fifth year, so Tuesday evenings often began, for the three of them, just inside from the Greenhouses.

With enormous grins, they divested her of her school bag and each claimed a hand to drag her rapidly away from the others in her year. Whilst she was still trying to shake drizzle from her hair, she was laughing at their strong-arm tactics. "Where are we going?" she asked them.

Their eyes were alight with mischief as they pulled her into a room that, by the feel, hadn't been occupied in a while. They lit old candles in their sconces, all three of them. Then Fred performed a drying charm on her hair—

"Wow! You have to teach me that!" she said, feeling how soft her curls were once they were dry.

—whilst George helped her out of her school robes, leaving her in the jumper-based uniform.

"Thank you," she told them both, twisting to get an arm around each of them. "You smell so good," she murmured.

Fred laughed into her hair. "Oh, yeah? Must be the Eau d' Gryffindor."

"Common Room Perfume!"

"Layered attractively with Snargaluff Pods, courtesy of Sprout."

"Of course, we knew them already, because they grow all around the Burrow."

"That must be it," Hermione murmured, rubbing her nose first into George's chest, then Fred's. "Combined, of course, with the underlying fragrance of Hot Ginger Wizard."

"Aw, Gred, she thinks we're hot," George murmured before nuzzling her behind one ear.

"How hot?" Fred asked in the other, giving her shivers that she felt from her spine to her womb and up to the very tips of her breasts.

She gripped each of her wizards as tightly as she could. "Hot enough to melt a witch."

"Mm, what does a melting witch taste like, I wonder?" Fred licked a path up her throat but, somehow, that didn't seem nearly enough. She arched her neck to give him as much tasting area as possible.

George shifted a bit she heard the wooden desk scoot on the stone floor. He slipped his hands under her jumper, but on top of her blouse. Still, she could feel the pressure of his long fingers as he massaged her midriff. "What does a melting witch taste like, Gred?"

"Mmm. I'm afraid to say," his twin murmured.

"Why?" Hermione found voice enough to ask.

Fred met her eyes, his dark with what she could tell was desire. "Afraid you'll slap me."

That actually offended her and she frowned, tensing in displeasure.

George slid his hands back out to over her jumper and pulled her tightly against himself. "Now you've gone and got her angry, Fred."

Contrite, Fred caught her chin in his hand. "I didn't mean to, Hermione. Why are you angry?"

Half of her—the half that had grown strong in Slytherin over the years—didn't want to tell him. Wanted him to be off guard and edgy and uncertain so she had the upper hand.

But the other half had deeper roots, and _that_ half wanted very much to maintain a relationship with them. And that meant—as anyone knew who had read any book on relationships— _communication_. She might only be fifteen, but she knew that much. "When have I ever slapped you or done anything like that? Have I even hexed you when we weren't dueling?"

That stopped both of them and she could feel the cooling of the atmosphere that had surrounded them. Part of her regretted having spoken, but part of her knew she had to. Was this dichotomy going to stay with her forever? She felt so torn.

"No. You've never done that. Sorry, Hermione." Fred looked it, and she believed he was sincere.

"Forgiven. Happy Valentine's Day." She leaned forward to kiss his jaw, which she could reach without leaving George's embrace. "Speaking of which . . ."

He kissed her, hard and fast, before moving away from her and eyeing her very obviously, up and down. "Can we _guess_ what you have underneath your _dress_? Really, Hermione? Way to wind a man up, yeah?"

"Over breakfast. Not. Fair. Naughty witch."

She felt George's hands slide downward over her wool skirt until he encompassed her hips. His fingertips were very, very close to dangerous territory, but she wasn't about to complain. Instead, she shook her head slowly and flickered her tongue out over her lips, remembering what her wizards got fixated upon with her. "I never said _dress_ in that rhyme," she reminded them, her voice as sexy as she thought she could make it. Judging by George's response at her back, she did a fair job.

Fred moved closer again and traced the hem of her skirt with the barest tips of his fingers. Never mind that she was wearing black tights, she could feel him. _Them_. "No, you didn't write out dress," he allowed, his voice thick and heavy and making her hot again. "But you wrote out five dashes."

"Like letters," George murmured behind one of her ears.

"But it wasn't _dress_."

"What was it, then?" he asked, and she could hear the smile in his question.

"R-O-B-E-S."

The boys paused, George in his minute clenching of his fingers at the crease of her thigh and hip over her skirt and Fred at the hem of it. He recovered first. "Still fits. So, what did you have hidden under your robes, love?"

"Portable magic. Like I said."

George slid his hands up, back under her jumper again. "No, nothing here but her blouse."

Fred met her gaze and held it, sliding the tips of his fingers under her skirt. For her part, she pulled him closer to her and leaned more firmly back into George.

"Nothing here but her tights," Fred whispered as if to his brother, but with his entire focus on her lips.

"That's because I haven't said the magic word," she told them both with a smile. She arched back to kiss George fully, even whilst she ran her hands over Fred's chest, and he continued to flirt with her hem.

George did his best to devour her, considering the odd angle. She hardly dared to move, though. He was . . . very aroused and she didn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than he had to be already. Still, the sound he made in his throat when she had to shift just a smidgin so as not to hurt herself was enough to send a bolt of heat through her, loosening her thighs as Fred drew even nearer.

Fred decided to taste her neck again and Hermione slid her hands under his jumper, panting when George released her lips for a moment.

"Merlin, 'Mione," he rasped, gripping her tightly at her ribs. "I don't know what that magic word is, but magic…magic. Yeah, you have that under your robes, right enough."

She ached to arch into his palms, and instinctively knew just how she would have to move to get his hands on her breasts, which felt so needy, just at that moment. And the heat building in her knickers was . . . torture. Delicious, never-stop-ever torture.

But. She didn't know how far she could go and still feel all right about herself in the morning, so she didn't push the limits any further. Here, on such a day, she felt good. Amazing. And her wizards didn't seem to be complaining any.

"You both have magic under your robes, too," she said, trying to be playful and not sure how it came off.

They laughed a bit, though, so she smiled and kissed Fred, nibbling at his jaw in the way that made him catch his breath before she slid away from between them.

"The magic word is ' _Capto_!'" Having said it, she could feel the change around her hips. For she had indeed figured out portable magic for her clothes. She let herself drop to the cold stone floor.

"Mi—"

"Her—"

Neither of them were able to say her name before she stopped, her bum inches above the ground, a smile on her face. "Portable magic!"

"Wicked!" the twins shouted in tandem.

"You said you left us something? We looked, but—"

She wiggled her brows. "I had a bit of help, but you'll find something in your room that will do this. Same _magic word_ , as well." At their dumbstruck expressions, she had to laugh. "Merlin, but it's good to surprise you."

Fred laughed, shaking his head as he pulled her back to her feet. "So, you just call the word as you fall? Is that how it would work?"

"So far, yes." She met their eyes directly. "I'd like to try it with my parents, at the next available opportunity."

"Of course," they said in tandem.

"But how did you get the charm . . . where?" George eyed her up and down, as if seeking something. He set his hand out to her hip, but it was repelled. "Is it on your knickers, 'Mione?" He sounded enraptured, but also shocked. His blush was obvious.

She didn't blush, though. This was a reveal she had planned for a while. "It is. And I did it with an embedded rune, combined with the charm."

"How do you cancel it?" The boys walked around her as if looking for an "off" button.

She smirked. " _Tollo_. I recommend that that be the universal word you choose for turning off the portable magic effects if you decide to produce such things for your shop. It's easy to remember."

"How did you embed a rune?"

"Sewed it in. Needle and thread. Very carefully."

The boys seemed to have an idea occur to them simultaneously and she watched, always fascinated to see that happen. Their faces would still, first. Then, they met and held one another's attention. Then, she could see a nod or shake of a head or a smile - some sort of reaction to what they were both thinking.

After which, they'd act or speak or something. If they chose.

"So, you sewed this by hand, did you?" For some reason, that evidently caught their imagination. After a moment, she realized that it was because it was her knickers. If it had been, say, socks, they wouldn't be so fixated on it.

 _Wait 'til they find their presents_ , she told herself, suppressing a far-too-naughty smile. For a moment.

"You said you left presents in our room?"

"Harry helped, didn't he?" George asked with a rakish smile.

Irritation flared. "Potter didn't tell, did he? He promised!"

"No, he didn't tell. We just guessed that he knew what you'd done. We still don't know what it was. Exactly," Fred assured her.

"Oh, good."

"I'm guessing, though," George said speculatively, crossing his arms in front of his chest, "that you made us something, too."

"Mm-hmm."

"And it's in our room."

"Mm-hmm."

"And it's something like what you have."

"Mm-hmm."

Identical pairs of brown eyes lit up with identically displayed intrigue and passion. "You did some hand-sewing for us, did you?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Wicked," they murmured, stepping up to surround her once again. George was in front, this time, and Fred behind and—

And she really hoped they liked their underwear.

Several hot and breathless minutes later, Fred made some sort of incoherent noise that shook her out of her Weasley-induced brain-fog.

"We either need to find a place to sit down," he said in that thick, heavy way he spoke on such occasions.

"Or take a breather," George concluded. "Besides," he said in a more chipper manner, "we've got a present or two for you, 'Mione."

The boys shifted about and sat her on the edge of the professor's desk available in the room. She was still feeling decidedly twitchy, but managed to sit like a lady with her ankles crossed, regardless. Trying not to squirm, she smiled. "Well?" She had, after all felt both of them up above the waist rather extensively just then, and she hadn't found anything suspicious. Nor in their front pockets. At least, not that she had noticed.

"You wear earrings," Fred said. "Sometimes, but not here. Not very often. Why?"

Startled but curious, she shrugged. "My parents gave me very pretty ones, but I didn't want them to go missing shortly after I got here. I guess, I got out of the habit of wearing jewelry at school."

Their faces fell for a moment as they shoved their hands in their pockets. "Well, that was years ago." George pretended to study her naked ears. "I don't guess anyone tries to take your things anymore, yeah?"

She had to smile a little at that. "No, not anymore."

Fred's expression was proud. "You've got a reputation for being dangerous."

"Fast on the hex, with complicated shields."

"No one can take you, even two-on-one." Both twins made playful eyebrow wiggles at that.

"So, we got you these," they said together and each opened one hand to her.

Two silver caracals, just like her Patronus, shone in their palms. "They're beautiful," she whispered. One was on a small, silver post that would dangle down when hung from her ear. "Is that, is that a wand?" she asked, delighted.

Fred nodded. "We made them a bit different. After all, you found where we weren't quite identical, so neither are these."

"And they're charmed, too." George held his between his fingertips. "See, just for your ear, here, and then it'll close. And if one gets lost, you just call for it and it'll come to you." At her surprised look, he grinned. "We do have a sister, you know. Earrings get lost."

"But not these. Thank you, they're just lovely. How do I call them?"

"Well, by name. The one with the wand," Fred said, pointing to his, "is Fabian."

"Which is, oddly enough, my middle name," George said with a chuckle. "And this one is Gideon."

"Fred's middle name. And he doesn't have a wand. Brilliant, just brilliant. May I?"

She put Fabian in her left ear, Gideon in her right and felt a warmth pass over her skin. "What else do they do? They feel warm."

Fred cupped her cheek with one hand. "They'll do that when we're thinking of you."

"Really?" Blushing, she caressed the earrings one at a time. "That's just… You are amazing wizards." She embraced them fully, one at a time, kissing them and running her fingers through their hair and all of those things one sees in a book or movie. It was warm and wonderful and different, too, because it was just them, one-on-one, while the other watched.

Her left ear heated up a bit. "Oh?" she asked, cocking a brow at George.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, but maintained eye contact with her. "Just, you know, thinking."

"So I see. Feel. That." She blushed when both of her ears detected Weasley Twin thoughts and that got her hot all over.

She was determined to recreate this magic for them for their birthday, but before she could figure out how, they were interrupted by a house-elf who cracked into the room, its pale blue eyes gleaming in the candlelit space.

"Sorries! I's having a note from the Headmaster for Weasleys and Granger and I's only had one! So I's had to find yous!"

Hermione smiled down at the nervous creature. "I'm Hermione Granger. May I have the note?"

"Here! All done! Bye!"

"For all of us, eh?" Fred joined her on the desk and George dragged a student table over to sit on in front of them. "Well, open it!"

She cracked open the shimmering red wax seal and unfolded the parchment.

 _Dear Miss Granger, Mr. Fred Weasley, and Mr. George Weasley,_

 _This is just to inform you that the masquerade is over as the masquerader has been caught. Thank you for your initiative and help in keeping our school safe._

 _Most sincerely,_

 _Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster_

Hermione blew out a breath when she read the short missive. "That was fast. I wonder if we'll have class next week?"

Her wizards laughed and each took and kissed one of her hands. Fred also wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "Only you would have that as a first response."

"Wonder if we'll get House points?" George asked in all apparent seriousness.

Hermione snorted softly. "So long as we _all_ get them, it'll be fair."

* * *

 _A/N: I will be posting on New Year's Eve, in the morning as per usual. See you tomorrow!_


	32. Chapter Thirty-One: Second Task

**A/N: I've been trying to reply to reviews from the last chapter, but for some reason, the system isn't allowing me to do that. They're in my inbox, though, and I'll be replying by the slower method of going to individuals' profiles and PMing. Please bear with me. :)**

 **And please don't let that dissuade you from leaving me notes. :) Thanks so much!**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-One: Second Task**

 ** _Hogwarts, 24 February 1994_**

"She's not there. At her table."

Fred had become accustomed to seeing their girl in the midst of the Durmstrangers this year. She was an early riser, had no lab in her dorm to monitor, and did her homework the moment it was assigned. Of course she was early to breakfast. And though he didn't care for the Head of Slytherin, he still looked for him, because sometimes Hermione met with him. "Neither is Snape."

Harry ran up behind them, looking tense and pale. "Where's Ron. Have you seen him?"

At that, Fred's heart started to race with worry. "No," he said slowly, thinking hard. "He's gone. So's Hermione."

He'd been afraid of this.

"Gred," George whispered, his hand on his shoulder. "Calm down. You're going to make a scene here in a minute."

"But our girl. Our brother. And—"

"Let's ask Krum about Hermione, then. They're friends and she was helping him with the egg and all."

"I'm coming as well," Harry stated.

The three of them marched—for that was what it felt like, with half the eyes of the Great Hall on them—across the room to the Slytherin table. Harry started them off. "Oi, Krum."

Krum appeared surprised, but then a determination came to his features as he rose to his feet. "Vhere is she?" he asked George and Fred. His eyes darted back and forth between them, as if trying to figure out which of them he should speak to. It was a very common occurrence, and Fred had stopped being too annoyed by it. Krum shifted his attention to Harry. "You know, yes? About today?"

"Yes. I'm ready. You?"

"Yes. So, vhere is she?"

"We don't know either. That's why we're here," Fred told him, more concerned now than he had been. "Snape's not here, either. Is she with him?"

Krum shook his head before taking a long, deep breath through his rather prominent nose. He exhaled after a moment. "So. She is gone. Head of House is gone. Who else?"

"My friend Ron."

"He's our younger brother," George supplied, testing each possible location that might attract both Ron and Hermione. He couldn't think of one.

They were still trying to figure it out when Dumbledore rose from his seat at the head table. "Good morning, everyone. The Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament will commence shortly after breakfast. So finish up, dress warmly, and meet us out at the Black Lake! Champions, you will be required to join the Tournament Committee in half an hour."

"Shite!" Harry muttered. Krum didn't say anything but looked as if he agreed.

"Can someone check her dorm?" George asked.

Krum turned on his heel and began speaking rapidly in some language that wasn't English or French to a girl Hermione had once identified as Stasia. The girl got up abruptly, leaving her half-eaten breakfast behind. Harry stood straighter as the older girl joined them. She was certainly fit, Fred could see, and he wondered if Harry was interested in girls, yet. Their sister'd been making cow eyes at him for at least a year.

But the Durmstrang girl didn't do more than nod at Harry. She spoke to George and to him. "You are hers, I know. We have spoken of you. We have much in common. I will check her dorm room and return quickly. I know you are short of time."

While she jogged off to do that, Harry started pacing. "I need Ron there, you know?" He stopped for a moment. "And I, I better go. Maybe he's down there already. Maybe. He's been a rock, you know. Ever since Granger tore him a new one."

Fred gripped one of Harry's shoulders, George the other. "He has, but you've done great, Harry," George told him.

"We'll find 'em," Fred said, hoping he sounded reassuring. Inside, he was really getting upset. As many times as he looked about, he wasn't finding them. "Oh, look. It's Delacour."

The French girl strolled up to them, her aspect businesslike. "'Alo. 'Arry. 'Veektorr. Shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Harry blurted.

Krum turned to his friends at the table. "Marko?"

"I'll come."

"If you see Hermione," Fred said before Harry and Krum could get away, "tell her we were looking for her?"

The Champions nodded but it seemed obvious that their thoughts were on the problem at hand, not Fred and George's missing girlfriend.

"Let's ask Dumbledore. Or McGonagall."

"Flitwick. He likes us and he's a Head."

"Right!"

"First, we should wait for that girl. Hermione's other friend."

"I'll wait for her," Fred suggested. "You go to Flitwick. Hurry, he's getting up!"

"On it!"

Fred watched, needing to do something but compelled to stay in one spot for a little longer as George got the opportunity to move. To do. To try something positive. _I should have checked the Library. But she'd be here, first. She would._

He fidgeted, standing so near the Slytherin table without a friendly face to stand beside him. He didn't know the Durmstrang students well enough to make conversation whilst he was agitated. He was getting narrowed looks from others down the table until a boy from Hermione's year pushed himself toward him. Terence Higgs wasn't a big guy, but he had been Seeker for the Slytherin—in a year where there were actually Quidditch teams, anyway—and that made him quick.

"Weasley," he said, his small eyes narrowed. "Your bird isn't here. What're you waitin' for?"

"Have you seen her? We can't find her."

"What, need a shag before the Second Task? Or does she put out for Potter, now? Heard she'd _helped_ him a bit with the dragons. Mudbloods do like it kinky, don't they?"

Fury tore a ragged strip through him, but Fred kept himself from punching the younger wizard by the barest bit of control. Instead, he whipped out his wand and thrust it under Higgs' jaw. "Do not. Talk like that. About Hermione. Again. See, I might hit you, but if she heard you? She'd hex you into next week. And I've dueled the girl; you don't want her to hex you. Trust me. She's already passed her O.W.L.s, remember?"

"Weasley!"

An accented female voice had him pocketing his wand and shoving Higgs away. Lightly. "Go on." He turned to the Russian girl. "Was she there?"

"No! And no one has seen her since last night." A frown cut furrows into the older girl's brow. Perhaps she is with Snape. If so, she will be well."

"Thanks, Stasia."

"We'll be going out soon if you want to join us?"

It was tempting, but Fred tried to say thank you and smile and decline all at the same time as George pelted back to him.

"Flitwick says it's a secret, but that she's all right. He swore they both were. He just can't say where. Yet."

"Bloody hell. Sorry, Stasia. We'd better go, yeah?"

"Hope you find her soon, Fred and George." She smiled, touched his arm and then George's as if she knew them, and then turned to finish her breakfast.

"What?"

"No sign of her in her room, obviously. Flitwick swears they're okay? Hermione and Ron?" Fred had to ask again, because he was really not happy about this. Had she known what was going on in advance and not told them?

"He promised. C'mon. Let's get out there and support Harry, yeah? Chances are, Ron's with him."

"And Hermione?"

"With Snape?" They both made faces. "Maybe she's been drafted to help with, with the healers or something? He trusts her, remember."

They started walking, heading outside on the most direct path to the Black Lake. Clusters of other students were doing the same, their breaths coming out in white puffs of air into the morning. George rubbed his hands together and tightened his scarf. "Remember, Krum and 'Mione were out here in January, working with that egg and all. There's got to be a way to stay warm."

"Warming charms!" Fred slapped himself on the forehead. They performed them in the next breath and were immediately more comfortable.

There were stands on the shore of the lake, divided by the Champions' Platform that extended out into the water. Professor Lupin and Professor Snape were both on it—a circumstance that astonished Fred. Those two hated each other. When Lupin had been brought back as DADA professor for the rest of the year after Crouch, Jr. had been arrested, Snape's was the only disgruntled face in all of Hogwarts, for Lupin was highly regarded.

"Welcome to the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament!" The Headmaster's voice was _Sonorus-_ enhanced, naturally, as it rolled out over the stands.

George sought for Ron, but still didn't see their little brother. Ginny, however, was at the very front of the seats, leaning against a rail meant for her safety. "Gin!"

She turned only for a moment to acknowledge them, but then turned her strained attention to the water.

"Today," Dumbledore was saying, "our Champions will be rescuing someone who is very dear to them. Someone who has been taken from them and hidden away under the very waters of Black Lake."

"Hermione and Ron!" George whispered to Fred. His twin nodded, face pale so that his freckles stood out like paprika on his skin. George imagined he looked much the same.

"The challenge will be for the Champions to rescue their dear one before an hour has passed. From Beauxbatons' Champion, Fleur Delacour: her sister, Gabrielle. From the Durmstrang Champion, Viktor Krum: his good friend and date to the recent Yule Ball, Hermione Granger."

Fred grabbed George's hand. They could hardly breathe. "'Mione! She's in the lake! How could he do that? There're Merpeople down there. And Grindylows. It's bloody dangerous," he protested.

George could only nod; Dumbledore was still talking. "…Cho Chang, his good friend and date to the recent Yule Ball. And finally, from Harry Potter: Ron Weasley, his friend and roommate. At my mark, the Champions will endeavor to rescue their dear ones and return them here to us. They will only have an hour!"

His breath coming in shallow gasps, George stared at the Champions as if to beg them to hurry back with Hermione and Ron. The three boys and one girl were wearing swimming costumes of one sort or another, and they had to be freezing, unless they'd cast charms upon themselves already. They shook their limbs, rolled their shoulders, and studied the surface of the lake. "Krum, you better get her back in one piece."

Fred took a loud inhale and squeezed George's hand before letting it go. "Dumbledore won't let anything happen to them. Not really. Will he?"

"Do you remember the dragons?" Ginny shrieked thinly.

Dumbledore raised his wand in the air and it popped with red and blue sparkles. "Go!"

Krum knifed into the water, his long Seeker's form stiff and sure. George tried to take heart in the other boy's evident determination. Delacour and Diggory dove in next, leaving Harry on the pier, flexing his fingers. Then, he, too, leapt in and George knew that Harry would bring Ron back. He _had_ to.

Then, all they could do was wait. And worry.

"D'you think she's wearing our earrings?" George asked his brother quietly as they glared at the lake's still, cold surface. It was freezing, but the water hadn't iced over. "Will she know we're thinking about her?"

"Dunno, Forge." Fred swallowed audibly. "You know, this just makes a man think, yeah?"

"Yeah."

The hour crept by with infinite slowness. George huddled with his brother and sister. Long spells of silence were broken with halting worries about how they were staying under water so long.

"I think Diggory and Harry shared information," Fred murmured. "I think."

"But the Grindylows," George reminded his siblings. "They're bleeding dangerous, down deep."

"The Headmaster must have made a deal or something," Ginny whispered, wringing her hands. "Glad Neville wasn't the Champion, or I'd be under there!"

George wrapped one arm around his sister. "That's all we'd need to go barmy, up here. You and Hermione down there."

"Hermione! Right!" Ginny turned to them and George didn't know if he should find gratification in his sister's obvious concern for them or if he should be embarrassed. "You must be so worried! Krum is, Krum's a very powerful wizard. He even beat Hermione in that duel, remember? I'm sure he'll bring her back soon!"

"Thanks, Gin," Fred said, his voice thick.

They embraced for a long moment, the three of them, before turning back to stare again at the lake. And waited. The spectators in the stands seemed to get bored, and George could hear complaints about not having anything to do, about some thinking they should just go back to the castle. Some even protested that at least the dragons were fun to watch, even though they were so dangerous.

Professor Snape came from wherever he'd been lurking to join the Headmaster on the pier. Unable to handle the inaction any longer—the need to do something was itching under George's skin, making his limbs twitch—George nudged Fred. "I want to ask Snape if he has any idea about how safe it is for Hermione."

"That Greasy Git?" Ginny sounded like she was sneering, but George didn't look at her face.

"Hermione trusts him. Yeah."

"I'll come with you."

Ginny grabbed both their arms. "He'll hex you!"

Fred pursed his lips. "No, I don't think so." He found himself smiling a bit. "At least, not in front of everyone."

Together, the brothers pushed through the crowded stands and hurried down the steps until they got to the cold, wet ground. They were almost marching in step again on their way to the pier. Snape saw them and rolled his eyes while crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Fred spoke when they reached him unhindered. "Professor? Do you know what's going on?"

"Oh, look. _Weasleys_." The Potions Master sighed. "Miss Granger is quite all right, I assure you."

"But, they've been there a long time, Professor," George said. Fred elbowed him.

"Really? Have they really?" Snape's sarcasm was so overplayed as to be insulting. "I had no idea." The greasy-haired man pushed back a white cuff on his arm. "Look. I have a wrist watch. I could find out what time it is, couldn't I?"

George kept stupid words behind his teeth. "Professor," he said, endeavoring to speak rationally, though worry continued to claw away at him despite the professor's casual demeanor. "What will happen if, if the Champions are late?"

Snape studied them for a long moment before pressing his lips together and looking at something beyond their heads. At length, he stepped closer. "She'll be fine. She's under a stasis spell and is utterly unaware of what's happening. She won't drown, even if Krum is late."

"But the Merfolk and Grindylows?" Fred prompted.

"The Headmaster has seen to everything. He's not going to begin an international incident over a tournament. Now go. They should be returning soon."

"No," the twins said in unison.

"Fine. Wait here. I don't care." Snape turned his back on them and moved to speak with the Durmstrang Headmaster.

"Well," Dumbledore announced shortly thereafter, his voice striking George as strange as he heard it normally—the Headmaster was about in arm's reach—and amplified. "An hour has passed! Which Champion will be first?"

Far out in the middle of the Lake, a head broke water! "Diggory!" shouted the crowd in the stands. "Cedric Diggory!"

"Cho! He's got her!"

A raucous and thankful cheer erupted behind the twins, but they didn't turn to watch. They followed Diggory's progress, swimming with his girlfriend in tow.

And George felt relief wash over him like warm water on this cold day. "Look, Fred. He's using the Bubblehead Charm! If he is, Harry probably is, too."

"And Cedric Diggory is first to arrive! Well done, Cedric!"

The cheers were still happening when another Champion emerged—alone! Fear gripped George again and Fred let out a despairing gasp.

"And there is Fleur Delacour—but _without_ her sister," Dumbledore observed somberly. "When I find out what happened, I'll let you know." The Headmaster stood, gripping his wand as the wet and weeping girl reached the pier, rambling in gasping French. Madame Maxime pulled the girl out, surrounding her in a towel and embrace.

George's French wasn't that good, so he couldn't follow the women to find out what had happened. But if Delacour hadn't retrieved someone as important as a sister…!

He couldn't imagine abandoning his own sister down there. Delacour was _still_ crying.

"George, look!"

Fred pointed out off the pier, just a short way off. A shark? No, wait. Only half of one and—

"Hermione!"

Their girl gasped loudly as soon as her head broke water. The shark with human arms shook its head and turned into Viktor Krum right in front of their eyes.

"And now, here is Viktor Krum, his treasure in his grasp! He is the second to return successfully."

"Wicked," Fred allowed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

George felt tears of relief in his own eyes, too. "Hermione," he chanted quietly as Krum brought Hermione to the pier.

The Quidditch player climbed up the wooden ladder, holding Hermione in one arm. She was smiling, and appeared to only be wet, but not injured.

"Hermione!"

Krum met George's eyes with a tired smile. "She is vell. Do not vorry."

Karkaroff stepped forward, carrying a thick towel. Krum took it as he set Hermione gently on the pier, where Snape had given her a towel he'd conjured from somewhere.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said quietly, sounding entirely normal.

"Your swains await," the Head of Slytherin said with a sneer and wave of one hand.

George and Fred lunged to Hermione's side. Fred peeled his winter robe from his body and surrounded Hermione with it. George picked her up, even though she complained.

"I'm fine. Really. Just cold and wet. And hungry." She smiled into George's eyes and he had to kiss her, fast and hard.

"'Mione. You're beautiful."

She laughed and Fred took her towel and wrapped her hair with it. "He's telling you the truth, witch. Say thank you."

"How about you feed me and _then_ I'll say thank you."

Krum reached them and Fred shook the Bulgarian's hand. "Thank you," Fred said.

George nuzzled Hermione again, ignoring her squirming to get out of his arms. Then he asked, "Did you see Ron?"

Hermione nodded. "He was fine."

" _Da_. Fine. Potter vas there before me. He vill be here soon. Brodare is _fine_."

And so it proved to be.

George and Fred flanked their girlfriend on the walk back to the castle, hearing her tell about how the Headmaster had told them what was happening, had given them an opportunity to refuse, and had seen to their safety.

"Still don't like it," George murmured into her hair. They had returned to their current favorite unused classroom, where Fred had transfigured the professor's desk into a comfortable black sofa just big enough for three that afternoon. They'd fed her with finger foods from the kitchens, used Ginny's drying charm on her hair and clothes, and hadn't let her out of their sight long enough to go to her dorm and change. Which she had really needed to do, for her clothes—while dry—smelled distinctly of lake water.

"Come on," she said in an effort to cajole them into doing the thing her way. "I'm not a fan of wearing your trousers, so . . ." They'd transfigured two chairs into a privacy screen for her.

"You look perfect in my jumper, though," Fred stated, playing with her fingers. Her warm, _dry_ fingers.

Hermione sighed softly before turning to kiss first Fred, then George. "I didn't know you'd be so worried."

"You didn't feel us thinking about you?"

"I was unconscious," she reminded them, a glint in her eye. But then, her expression softened and Fred felt her melt a bit between them. "I can feel my ears burning now, though."

Fred rested his chin on her head and met George's eyes. And there, he saw the reflection of something he had himself realized that very morning on the shore of the Black Lake.

They had fallen in love with Hermione Granger. And it was perfectly, utterly splendid.

Their hug was powerful and she squeaked a little. "Guys! Come on! How can I make you feel better?" Her tone held humor and concern, so Fred wiggled his eyebrows at her in his best playful manner, so as not to give himself or George away.

"I think a good snogging is in order, eh, Forge?"

"Absolutely, Gred."

"Oh, honestly," Hermione said before standing up and motioning with her arms for the two of them to sit next to one another. Then, looking oddly desirable with her hair in a huge mass of unruly curls, in Fred's blue Christmas jumper with its sleeves pushed up, and in a duplicated pair of George's trousers with the waistband belted to a ridiculously tiny circumference, she straddled Fred's right thigh and George's left. "There. Snog away!"

They did.

* * *

 _A/N: I hope everyone has a lovely and safe New Year's Celebration! See you in 2016!_


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two: Howler

**Happy New Year!**

 _A/N: You are all fabulous. Despite the grrr-worthy irritation of review reply issues, I've still heard from so many of you and have tried to reply as I could. Thank you so much for your patience. Special thanks to **TJK78** , who caught review #1300! Wow!_

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Two**

 ** _Hogwarts, 3 March 1995_**

"Merlin, don't these people have anything else to write about?"

It had been a week since the Second Task and Hermione was eating breakfast at the Gryffindor table with her boyfriends when the _Daily Prophet_ came flying in. A copy dropped in front of Potter, and sure enough, it was a mess.

"Well, Potter," she ventured, trying to be sociable, "you were the hero of the day."

The boy snorted a bit and offered the delivery owl some Tyto Treats. He shook the paper loudly, opened it, and barked out a laugh. "Ha to you, Granger! Here, look."

George grabbed the paper from Potter and Fred leaned close to her. The twins had her sandwiched in the middle, so they could all three read the article that framed the pictures of her . . . and Viktor. Lovely.

"Krum Rescues Darling," she read out loud. "Charming." George made a derogatory sound on her right and she kissed his cheek. "You know better," she reminded him.

"So? Doesn't mean I like seeing you with him in the paper." There she was in her Yule gown on the first waltz with Viktor. And the next image was of Viktor bringing her out of the water at the Second Task. "Why don't they show what happened not a minute later, yeah?"

"We don't make good copy, I suppose," she mused. "Champion Rescues Twins' Girlfriend doesn't sound the same."

Fred folded the paper back up to give to Potter. "But it's true."

"It was just a recap of the Task, and it was a boring Task, from what you've told me," Hermione reminded them. "Took them all week to get anything to spin on. Probably had to actually think, you know?"

"Must've hurt," George said, trying to enter into her spirit of playfulness.

Fred agreed and then asked, "Do your parents get the _Prophet_ , Hermione?"

That sent a cold stab of dread into her chest. "No. Merlin, no. There'd be far too much to explain to them if they did."

"True enough."

* * *

 ** _4 March 1995_**

"What are you reading there?" Gretchen established herself across from Hermione, her blond hair plaited into a crown and her blue eyes bright with some secret or other. Hermione's bet was that the German Goddess had found herself a boy.

When a blue-vested Frenchman dropped a quick kiss on Gretchen's head, Hermione took her supposition as a certainty and smiled at the Beauxbatons boy.

"I'm revising for exams," she told Gretchen as the blonde selected her breakfast foods.

Hermione herself was eating porridge with honey and salt. But only with one hand. The other hand was tracing over George's Herbology notes. The twins had marked their notes with blue ink on occasion. The blue notations meant that "This was on our test."

It helped to know what sorts of questions had been asked before, even if they weren't on her own O.W.L. She still had to revise carefully.

"I am sure that well you will do on the exams," Gretchen told her, her voice a bit dreamy.

"Dreamy" was a feeling Hermione understood quite well. She smiled a little to herself and took a moment to look across the Great Hall at her lions, talking and gesturing about something that had captured their interest. They were inventing something all the time. Their minds never stopped and she thought that was terribly attractive.

Her left ear heated. Fabian, today. Fred was thinking about her. She smiled at her porridge, for she knew the boys weren't looking in her direction. What was he inventing that had him thinking about her?

She returned to her Herbology notes. Bubotuber pus was not her favorite thing to read about over breakfast, but it had been on their O.W.L., so she'd steel herself and get through it.

Morning owls began their daily entrance from the uppermost windows, swooping down to the Head and House tables. Hermione checked the table for something that might be a good reward, just in case she got a letter. Boudicca had taken a letter to Mum and Dad a week ago, but she might be back. She'd left her owl treats in her dorm room.

When she got a big red envelope dropped atop her porridge, though, the last thing she thought of was to find the responsible owl. Instead, she was frozen.

She'd been taunted, pranked, hexed, injured, and humiliated by her fellow students, but she'd never received a howler before. She braced herself to pick up the large red envelope to clean it before—reluctantly—opening it, when her ears started burning.

"Hermione! Don't open it!"

"Wait, 'Mione! Wait!"

Viktor eyed her with a sympathetic light in his dark eyes. "Perhaps they know something?"

Her stomach felt as if she'd eaten a large lump of cold pasta. "Maybe I should take this elsewhere."

Fred and George had run across the hall, disregarding all rules of comportment and safety, to get to her. Fred snatched the howler off the table and George half-lifted her. "Come on, then," he said. "Let's get it over with."

"Better hurry, Granger," Malfoy taunted from the safety of mid-table. "Could be important!"

She didn't even bother looking at the younger boy as both her boyfriends hurried her right out of the Great Hall.

"Bloody hell, it's getting hot," Fred complained with a hiss as they ran through the Entrance Hall to get outside.

"Open it," George said once he'd pushed the exterior door open.

Then, each of her wizards wrapped an arm about her as they dropped the envelope. It shouted in Mrs. Weasley's strident voice:

 ** _Hermione Granger!_**

 ** _How dare you? You were a guest in our home!_**

 ** _How dare you go behind my sons' backs to take up again with that Quidditch player?_**

 ** _How dare you? You, you snake!_**

 ** _You asked why I was suspicious? This is why! You can't be trusted!_**

 ** _I hope my sons have seen your true self and have moved on by now._**

 ** _You are not welcome in my home again!_**

With a ripping sound, the envelope self-combusted and George and Fred surrounded her with whispers and assurances that they knew her better and that they'd explain everything to their mum.

"She sent us a letter to apologize for agreeing to have you be our guest, for exposing us to you," Fred told her with a nearly broken voice. "I'm so, so sorry, sweetheart."

George cupped her face in his hands and wiped silent tears from her cheeks, for Hermione hadn't been able to find her voice yet. "'Mione, please don't cry."

"She hates me," she finally whispered. "She's your _mum_ , and—"

"And she's so wrong about you." Fred wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her tight against himself. "Even _Ron_ would say she was wrong about you, yeah?"

She could tell he was attempting to make her feel better, so she tried to smile. Her ears were warm, so warm with the thoughts of her wizards and she tried to let that heat move to her cold and frozen middle.

"Come on, love," George said in what she knew was supposed to be an encouraging manner. "No tears, all right? You've faced down an entire House of Slytherins and made nice with the Notorious Greasy Git of the dungeons."

"He's not a greasy git. He's my Head of House," she retorted, sniffling until Fred whispered something and produced a handkerchief. She smiled with gratitude. "You really are the most amazing wizards," she told them, her voice muffled in the cotton square.

George kissed the top of her head. "And handsome, don't forget."

"Brilliant, too. You've said so."

"You are, and you're going to have the most splendid shop and you'll make people laugh and help them be safe. It'll be the most amazing thing ever." She knew she was gushing and she didn't care. She had broken and needed to regain her feet, so she made sure to build up her boys, as they were holding her up when she needed it.

At least, that's what she told herself. She didn't know why she was so upset over a howler.

She just . . . wanted them happy. And if they were worried about her, then they weren't happy.

She turned and maneuvered so she had each of them in one arm and was hugging them. Their arms went around her and they just stood there for a few minutes in quiet support.

Then she sighed. "Thank you."

"We'll write her right back."

"Want us to send a howler?" Fred offered, nudging her chin up.

She shook her head. "No. She's your mum. She was only being indignant on your behalf."

"She was being _awful_ on our behalf. I love Mum, but it's true."

"George." She ran one hand through his hair as she studied his eyes. "She loves you. She meant well. Sort of."

"She hurt you."

"I've been hurt before. I'll live."

"Hermione," Fred said, tugging on her hair.

"Fred. Write to her. Tell her the truth. But don't push it. If I were a Ravenclaw, we might not even be having this conversation." She smiled ruefully at both of them. "Come on. Breakfast is getting cold."

"Not hungry." They said this together, renewing their mutual embrace, so she sighed and enjoyed the comfort they offered.

* * *

 ** _20 March 1995_**

Professor Lupin surprised them.

Alicia Spinnet looked around the Defense classroom, hands out at her sides. "Where are the chairs?"

Lupin grinned wolfishly. Fred couldn't help thinking that, but it was true. "Outside. Where we'll be going."

Fred grinned. No notes that day, clearly. He took Hermione's hand in his own and squeezed it without making it a big deal. Just to have a mini-celebration. She squeezed back.

"Miss Granger, I'm going to ask for your help, today."

She dropped his hand and retrieved her wand from a wrist holster. "What can I do, sir?"

"I want you to help me demonstrate how to conjure a Patronus."

The class chuckled. George gripped her free hand to encourage her. Fred said, "Professor, she's tried that already. We're hopeless."

"Didn't Professor Moody leave you notes?" Higgs called with a disparaging sneer. "I thought you Gryffindors fulfilled your responsibilities."

Lupin looked surprised. "You tried? Well, then. Come along, Miss Granger. Everyone. We're going outside. I, for one, am sick and tired of being indoors."

No one, not even the meanest Slytherin, dared to say a thing about his being a werewolf. The full moon had only been three nights before.

Once outside, Lupin had the class stand in a large half-circle and proceeded to teach them all how to conjure a Patronus, asking Hermione to demonstrate. Fred wondered if she felt how often her ears burned during the lesson.

Merlin, that was their girl, there. Their Hermione with her fully corporeal Patronus.

Several members of the Advanced Defense group had managed to get something to come from the tip of their wand. Fred and George were still trying to make more than a mist with a hint of paws.

"Private tutoring later?" George asked with a gleam in his eye.

"We know the Professor's Pet," Fred responded. "I think we can manage that."

The joined their girlfriend after class was dismissed, because she was still speaking with their professor. Lupin was saying, "I understand you used your Patronus in a rather unique manner last year."

"I only learned it last year, sir."

"Well, then, earlier this year."

"Oh." Hermione pinked up a bit around the edges and Fred grinned. Lupin caught his smile and duplicated it. "Yes, I did, rather. Unintended consequences."

"In a duel? You really did?" Lupin seemed happily incredulous. "I'd never even considered such a thing."

"I don't know that it would be effective in a real fight, Professor. But it worked for that one, anyway."

"Did you win?"

"No, but Viktor is rather older and he really is an excellent duelist. I've fought him since then—the students from Durmstrang have been very willing to help me improve—but haven't used a Patronus since." She smiled. "I could use some more tactics for practical fighting."

The professor's expression fell. "Is that something you've needed, Miss Granger?" He darted looks to Fred and George, who nodded but said nothing. "Well, we could work on that, too, then. We'll do some more revision, certainly, but I do believe we'll have time for serious training within a month."

Hermione beamed and Fred felt his heart jump in his chest. He so enjoyed seeing her happy. "Thank you, Professor Lupin! That would be splendid."

"I wanted to thank the three of you, and I haven't really taken the opportunity to do so, with one thing and another. But thank you. You've done Hogwarts a great service, and I daresay you've also helped the son of one of my dearest friends in so doing."

"Sir?" George asked, sincerely puzzled.

"Harry Potter? He's in your house, Mr. Weasley."

"Harry's your friend's son. So your friend was James Potter."

"And Sirius Black is your other friend, and he's Harry's godfather."

"Two for two, boys. Thank you."

"Wait." Fred held up a hand and Lupin waited, a half smile on his face. "Harry said his Patronus was like his dad…"

"Prongs, yes."

"Bloody hell!"

"Merlin! You're—"

"Moony!" Fred pushed past Hermione, hand extended. "You're a Marauder. You made the map. We gave it back to Harry last year, but—!"

Lupin threw back his head and laughed. "Only now figured that out? I'm disappointed." His smile, though, said he wasn't. Not really. When he stopped laughing, he shook hands with Fred and George and nodded at Hermione. "So. Thank you. Barty Crouch, Jr., was interrogated under Veritaserum as well as being subject to some pretty severe Legilimency." Grimacing, Lupin scraped his free hand through his graying hair."

Hermione grabbed Fred's hand and then reached for George. They stood, rapt, listening because no one had told them what had resulted from their little adventure in _Geminio_ testing, save that Professor Polyjuice had been captured and Professor Moony was back.

And none of them, Fred was certain, wanted to ruin this unexpected revelational opportunity.

"If not for you, Hermione, and you, Fred and George, Harry might have conceivably faced a deadly task come June. But we've intercepted and prevented that, we hope, so now we're trying to end the danger for this year as well as the future." He eyed them without a spark of laughter. Nothing there but stern purpose. "Do you understand me? I trust you won't speak of this to anyone, least of all Harry, but you deserve to know."

"Why not Harry?" George wanted to know. "He—"

"He'd blame himself for every burn suffered in the First Task, for how upset Mademoiselle Delacour was in the Second—you know how he is."

Hermione said nothing, but Fred and George both nodded. "Yeah. So, was that other guy, Professor Polyjuice, was he working with someone else?"

"Yes. With You-Know-Who. Sort of."

"But he's—"

"He's not." Lupin rubbed at his stubbly jaw for a moment, coming to a decision. "It's a long story and it's not all mine to tell. So I won't, but you could ask Dumbledore if you think you should." Then, in a clear effort to lighten the mood, he gave his attention to Hermione. "You might as well ask. You've got a good head on you, Miss Granger, and I can't but think having you know what's going on would be beneficial, in the short and long run." He opened his robe and checked his pocket watch. "I'd best be going. Next class coming soon. Until next week, then."

"I'd best get to Potions," Hermione said.

"Whereas we're done for the day, so, may we walk you to class, Miss Granger?"

She took their offered arms. "I'd be delighted, thank you. But first—"

"Wha—?" Fred was interrupted by Hermione's kiss.

Which was followed by her kissing George, who said, "And here we are, without time for a snog."

"I know!" she said with a toss of her head and a twinkle in her eye.

"Love to see you smile," Fred told her.

"Likewise!"

* * *

 _A/N: As of this typing (heh) the review reply issue is still making me growl. But I will persevere and reply, though it will take me a while. ALSO, if you have a question that you'd like me to answer, please make sure to PM me or review from an account to which I can respond. Thanks so much!_


	34. Chapter Thirty-Three: Birthday

_**A/N** : Well, I slept in a bit this morning but when I woke up, it appeared that the Review Reply Glitch has been overcome. :) Thank you so very much for reading this story! I'm enjoying sharing it with you._

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Three: Birthday**

 ** _Hogwarts, 1 April 1995_**

Hermione awoke before the sun, that Saturday morning. The day was going to be remarkable for any number of reasons. One of them being that it was the first dry Hogsmeade day they'd had since who knew when. Another reason was that it was April Fool's Day, so her boyfriends had all sorts of things planned; it was tradition.

But most importantly, it was their birthday, and _she_ had plans for _them_.

First, she had to prepare herself. Then, she had to make sure she was prepared to be a most proper girlfriend. That meant finding out what they wanted and giving it to them to the best of her ability.

 _"When I was a little girl," she had told them a few days ago, "my birthday was all about making me feel special. I got to choose everything, like what we ate and what we did and everything."_

 _George had smiled softly and wound a lock of her hair around his fingers. "Must've been fun for you. Especially as an only child."_

 _"Well it was, because my parents were quite strict. So that one day, I made the rules. It was a huge deal. So. For you two, what do you want on your big day? If you got to pick anything just for you?"_

 _They grinned at one another as if she'd told them it was Christmas or something. "Just for us?"_

 _Fred wiggled his eyebrows. "Will you go to Hogsmeade with us?"_

 _"Is that all?" she'd asked with a laugh._

 _George's eyes had darkened all of a sudden, and she'd gone all melty inside. "Up for a marathon snog, Miss Granger?"_

 _Fred had nuzzled her neck. "If we get to choose what we want to do…"_

 _"What about Hogsmeade?"_

 _"We can do both." The twins grinned at each other and the heat between the three of them had dissipated. "We've plans for Hogsmeade!"_

So, she had plans as well. After showering, she put on pretty underwear. Matching bra and knickers as well as a camisole, since they were going to Hogsmeade and it wasn't that far past winter, yet. Then, she had a white cashmere jumper she'd been saving for a special occasion. Beyond that, dark blue jeans and black patent flats. The walk to Hogsmeade was a longish one if one's shoes were not comfortable.

Her hair, she left alone. The boys had shown her that they liked it loose, so she simply did a drying spell on it, spiraling as she performed it so that the curls were not quite so madcap.

Then, mascara. No lipstick; she had every intention of kissing a lot later, and she didn't want to smear anyone.

"Good," she told her reflection in the fifth year girls bathroom.

Shana was up and dressed for Hogsmeade as well. "Going with anyone?" Hermione inquired.

"Blaise Zabini."

"He's quite handsome," Hermione allowed with a smile.

Patrice was also looking fit, but Hermione didn't speak to her. Ilana was buckling short boots. Her blue eyes narrowed when she saw Hermione.

"I thought you had a date, today? Aren't your wizards taking you to Hogsmeade?"

"They are."

With a sniff, Ilana dismissed her appearance. "You don't look it, Muggle-born. So common. Well, the Weasleys _are_ blood-traitors, so I suppose they don't mind."

Hermione's previous contentment with her looks slid out of her grasp, but she didn't let it show. "I'm sure they won't mind. You see, George and Fred like me for _me_ , not for my clothes."

Shana winked at her, but pretended to ignore her. After all, they had to live together and Hermione had already learned how to live with their rank and file disapproval. Shana hadn't.

With some trepidation, cross-body handbag with their birthday presents in place, Hermione went down to breakfast. She had no idea what her wizards were going to be doing that day.

They were waiting for her at the end of the Slytherin table. "First thing we wanted," Fred said with a warm smile, "was a kiss before breakfast."

"Happy birthday, Fred. Happy birthday, George." Kissing each of them, she then asked, "Do I need an umbrella or anything to keep my hair dry this morning?"

Laughing, they told her no. "You're safe, sweetheart," Fred assured her before they turned to join their friends and family at the Gryffindor table.

The professors approached the Head Table with obvious caution, and Hermione had to grin. "Vhat is so funny?" Viktor wanted to know.

"Every year, the twins play pranks on their birthday. Last year, they set off fireworks under the Head Table. No one was hurt, but a lot of food went flying." Viktor laughed softly and nodded. "If there are classes on their birthday, all the professors worry about interruptions. But today, it's Saturday, so the twins will probably go for something big this morning."

She watched, her tea cooling in its cup in her hand as the professors gingerly took their seats. All the students watched, save for the elite of Slytherin who professed not to care what the blood-traitor Weasleys were up to. Again. Whispers and giggles danced over the tables, but nothing was happening.

For Hermione, that meant this could be an epic prank. For the professors, they seemed to relax. "Perhaps they think the twins, now that they're seventeen, are beyond all the pranking?" she asked aloud, her eyes on the head table. George and Fred had promised not to attack her House, but that was the only assurance she'd been given.

"There could be collateral damage," Fred had whispered into her ear last night just before curfew.

"Well, be nice to me. I have presents for you," she'd teased.

They had walked her back to her common room and left her to pelt like crazy men to the Gryffindor tower.

Today, their bright brown eyes and eager body language would never give away that they had spent most of the night up, preparing for their coming of age birthday. Still, she knew, because her ears had been warmed off and on most of the night. She smiled, thinking of what she had in her bag for them.

What's good for the ganders had to be good for the goose, right?

Breakfast was about halfway over and Dumbledore had risen to make his usual "Enjoy Hogsmeade" speech when laughter began to echo all over the hall, originating from the magical ceiling.

"Peeves!"

The troublesome ghost sailed over the length of the Great Hall, laughing like a loon. When he reached the Head Table, Peeves dumped out a bucket of confetti. The tense faces at the Head Table relaxed. Until the confetti started playing music that sounded like the Hogwarts School Song, but sung by Munchkins, Hermione thought. Straight out of Oz.

Snickers grew to laughter which morphed into rollicking guffaws before the "singing" stopped.

Dumbledore stood and arrowed a look directly at Fred and George. "What, wishing yourselves a happy birthday was too obvious, Messrs. Weasley?"

The laughter rolled around the hall, and since the Durmstrangers were laughing, Hermione felt, for the first time in years, that she could laugh, too.

The professors endeavored to clean up the now-silent confetti, but it wouldn't allow itself to be Banished unless it was tiny piece by tiny piece. Fred was red-faced with laughter, whilst George had a highly contented expression as he sipped his juice.

* * *

 ** _Hogsmeade_**

George was thanking Ron and Gin for their "Good for one chore, Summer 1995" gift certificates whilst Fred was figuring out how to Disillusion the magazines Bill and Charlie sent him and his brother. They'd labeled a mock-cover for each publication as _Educational Materials for the Smart Witch and Wizard_. The prats.

Hermione would be _so_ sure she was dating perverts.

She was waiting for them already just inside the Entrance Hall. "I want to tell her," Fred murmured. "Do you think she'd think we're off our nut?"

"No, but she might feel uncomfortable if she hasn't reached that point with us quite yet."

That she would, both twins felt was inevitable. They _fit_ together. They always had. Even sorted into diametrically opposed Houses and from opposite blood statuses. They fit.

"Let's just see if it happens," George suggested just before they reached her.

Fred nodded and then he called, "Oi! Granger!"

She shook her head with a wry look. "Oi! Weasley!"

"You never did that with us," George pointed out.

She shrugged. "You haven't called me 'Granger' in months, so . . ."

George gathered her up in his arms and kissed her with a loud smacking sound. Fred tugged her from him, loving the feel of the soft jumper she wore as he met her lips with his. "You know, it's a very tempting idea to skive off from Hogsmeade today."

"We could just start the marathon," George agreed, grinning as he nuzzled Hermione's hair.

She eyed them speculatively, that look that just _did_ things to both of them. "We could. It is your birthday." Her eyes warmed with an inner smile that _also_ did things to them.

Fred had to swallow down a "Yes, please!" Instead, he took one of her hands. "We'll just, ah, hit the essentials, yeah?"

"You know," George added, running one hand down her arm until he laced his fingers with hers. "Zonko's. Honeydukes."

"Dogweed and Deathcap?" she asked with a quirky smile. "Gladrags?"

Fred rolled his eyes and swung her hand back and forth. "What, you want to get us new socks for our birthday?" Then, he kissed that same hand. "How about you? Scrivenshafts? Tomes and Scrolls?"

"Actually, yes. I have to finish my independent study for History of Magic. Then how about The Three Broomsticks before coming back?" she asked with an air of far-too-studied casualness.

George chuckled as they walked along the path to Hogsmeade. "Why, Miss Granger. One might think you had plans this afternoon."

"Indeed. One might," she responded airily. "I'm very much looking forward to them."

Fred caught George's eye. "So. Am. I," they said.

With the sun shining, Fred found that he and George spent a lot more time just strolling with their girlfriend than they did hustling from place to place, trying to keep her dry. It was liberating, really. One thing he noticed was that, apart from some of the Durmstrang students, she really had no one to exchange greetings with, to wave to, or call random comments to across the road. He and George, of course, has plenty of connections, for they enjoyed interacting with people. Even those whom they had pranked.

Pretty much everyone laughed with them and for them, wishing them a good day.

It had the effect of making him a bit less thrilled than he might have been, otherwise. He actually considered bringing it up, to see if there was anything he or George could do to improve the situation for their girlfriend when he caught George's near-frantic headshake.

"Oh, look, guys. Hey, Zonko's isn't far. I'll go get my books and you go on to your _favorite_ shop and I'll meet you there, all right?" Hermione was rolling up on her toes, her eyes alight with anticipation. "And if you're really good, I'll give you your presents before we go back to Hogwarts. How's that?"

"How good is really good, there, sweetheart?" Fred couldn't resist asking.

She nibbled at his jaw and he felt his heart race and his face flush. Then, she collared George with her arm around his neck and pressed herself against him with her face buried in his throat. George closed his eyes and froze, right there on the road.

"Really good," Hermione whispered in a belated answer. Then, with a wink that she might just have stolen from him, she turned and stepped into the bookshop.

They watched the sway of her hips and the bounce of her hair as she disappeared from view and sighed simultaneously. Then, as they headed to Zonko's, Fred asked, "Okay, what was that shaking about?"

"You were looking disgruntled and it was right after we had been talking with Alicia and Lee and Katie and Diggory. When you watched 'Mione, you looked unhappy and I had the very bad feeling you were going to ask her if you get make her smile or something because she wasn't waving at people."

"You're almost too good at this. Sure you're not a closet Legilimens, Forge?"

"Ha. You wish."

They laughed, but then, George said, "No, I just know you, Gred. And I know her. And she was happy and is happy and I'd hate for you to screw up our birthday without good reason."

"You're brilliant, Twin O'Mine."

"I know!"

* * *

"So. Presents." The Three Broomsticks was crowded, but George shouldered and elbowed his way to the back, where he nudged a niche for the three of them. He was adept at making space for himself. In the Weasley family? It was a survival skill.

He often wondered how Hermione would be able to manage, dovetailed into a Burrow party or something. She seemed to do well enough at New Years, but then—she was rather isolated. Though, she did get along fine with Bill and Ginny.

Standing at Madam Rosmerta's bar, he put an arm around Hermione after she mentioned presents. "I am always up for presents," he told her.

Madam Rosmerta—still a green-eyed, blond-haired beauty though she likely had forty years on him—smiled with her customary welcome. George and Fred made sure never to prank her in her own establishment. It never did to alienate someone who had good Butterbeer, was their philosophy. "Presents?" she asked. "Is it your birthday again?"

"Every year on the first of April," Fred stated grandly.

"And this year, we've got a girlfriend to celebrate with. Have you met Hermione?"

"Can't say as I have," the innkeeper said in answer. "I'm Rosmerta, the owner and general proprietor of The Three Broomsticks Inn."

Hermione eyed her with a wary sort of expression. George didn't blame her one bit. "Hermione Granger, first Muggle-born sorted to Slytherin in more than a century,"

Rosmerta laughed loudly enough to garner attention from nearby tables. "Oh, I like you."

George kiss Hermione's curly head. "She's quite likable."

"And brilliant."

"Fifth year and in our _sixth_ year Defense class."

"Guys! Stop!" Hermione frowned. "Sorry, Madam Rosmerta. It _is_ their birthday and I think reaching their majority has rather gone to their heads."

"Birthday Butterbeers on me, gentlemen. I'll be right back."

"Thank you!" Fred called. Then, he wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist. "Presents!"

"Yes! Here. Just a moment." She laughed a little and blew a strand of curls out of her face. "This place is insanely crowded." She rummaged in her handbag before pulling out two boxes. "Here. George, here's yours. Fred, this one's for you."

George took the bright gold box but had to ask. "How can you tell this is mine?" Sometimes, people got him and Fred exactly the same thing, which he appreciated even if he was disappointed. He didn't think Hermione would do that, but he felt he had to ask anyway.

He smiled involuntarily when she took his fingers and brushed them along the side of the box. "Feel the raised dots?"

A bright delight went off in his brain. "Oh! Code? Fred! Can you feel yours?"

"Cor! Brilliant! Do we have to decipher it before we can open the box?" They exchanged boxes while Fred asked, and George grinned hugely to feel Fred's raised dots in an entirely different pattern than his own.

"No, I'm not that sneaky," Hermione told them, smiling at Rosmerta when three bottles of Butterbeer, already beading with condensation, appeared before them. "Thank you!"

"My pleasure. Anything else?"

"I'm taking them on a picnic after this," she told Madam Rosmerta. "Would you be able to make us up a box?"

Blushing, George exchanged a look with Fred. He didn't mean to have their girlfriend buy them lunch. Not that they had a ton of cash to take her out, either, but—

"Aren't you going to open your presents?" Hermione asked, sliding Galleons across the bar to Rosmerta. Then, she looked up into George's eyes and, with soft solemnity, said, "It's your birthday. I'm buying. Deal with it. I will, of course, expect a formal dinner, with dress robes and dancing, for _my_ birthday."

"September the nineteenth. We'll remember." He knew she was joking, but he also knew she was taking him seriously. It warmed him and made him feel vulnerable and, and _cared for_. All in one swooping heartbeat.

While his fingers were still dry, he felt the raised bumps again, wondering what they indicated. But he didn't puzzle over it long, because he wanted to open the box. "Ready, Gred?"

"Ready, Forge. Three."

"Two."

"One!"

On the next beat, George took the top off the golden box and found tissue paper and a black leather cord. "Mm, leather. Sexy," he commented to their girlfriend.

Fred picked up the cord in the middle of the tissue paper. "Oi! Look, George. Jewelry! With another code on it!" He was grinning.

George found that he, too, had a pendant like his twin's. The black leather cord was tied to an open silver rectangle with coded dashes along two of the sides. The bottom had a date on it. "31-12-94," he read aloud. "Is this part of the code?" He loved the idea that their Hermione had given them something that wasn't only wearable, but also — "Hey," he said, when it began to grow warm in his palm. "Hey, is this getting hot, Hermione?"

Fred grinned hugely. "Cor, it is! Like—"

"Like my earrings, yes." She smiled at them, her hair swishing gently over her shoulder as she looked from George to his brother. "I love them. I love feeling you thinking about me. And so I thought I'd imitate the masters."

Fred's stance shifted in a moment. "Mm, she called us masters, George."

And wasn't _that_ a splash of heat to exacerbate an already growing problem. George felt himself becoming a bit pink and was relieved that the it wouldn't be too noticeable in the crowded inn. "Yeah." His voice was husky and he knew it was because his head had just gone off into forbidden territory. He blamed Bill and Charlie and their "Educational Materials". He coughed and blew out a breath. "So, this is charmed to warm up when you think about us?"

"Let me put it on you?" And there, right at the bar, their witch slid charmed pendants over each of their heads and actually unbuttoned the top button of their shirts to slide the silver rectangles inside. "Now you can feel it," she said, sounding smug and satisfied.

He pressed his hand to the warm rectangle that rested on his breastbone. "Aw, 'Mione. This is, brilliant." He leaned down to kiss her in thanks, careful not to let all those dangerous notions interfere, since they were in public.

Fred followed, sighing into her hair. "So, the code along the sides?" He pulled out his pendant and looked at it. "It's different than what's on the boxes. Dashes and dots, here. And raised dots on the boxes."

"And his doesn't have the same pattern as mine," George noticed. He pulled his pendant out to look at it. "And the numbers there."

"A date, George."

"Oh! Now I feel proper stupid. New Year's Eve, yeah?"

"Is that what the dashes and dots say?" Fred wanted to know.

She shook her head. "No. I thought you two, with your never-quiet minds, might enjoy figuring it out." She didn't meet their eyes, though her tone was smiling. "So, let me know when you do, all right?"

"Gred, I do believe the girl has presented us with a challenge."

"Indeed she has. We will meet it."

George grinned and took a sip of his Butterbeer. "What do we get when we do, 'Mione?"

She drew circles on the bar with her Butterbeer bottle. "What, the satisfaction of a job well done isn't good enough?"

He and Fred laughed. Fred shook his head. "No."

She met his eyes, then George's. Her expression was serious and thoughtful, which made George believe that they'd just screwed up a bit. "Well, figure them out, and let me know."

Her whole demeanor had gone from playful to something dreadful. Something very sad and depressed, especially when it had all been going so well. And it was because he and his twin had discounted something. Something important. George knew that because he knew their Hermione.

So, he tried to make up for it by catching her chin on one finger and tilting her head up so he could study her face again. "Hey. Sorry. We, we're not used to girlfriend-gifts, okay?" He kissed her forehead quickly, as Fred figured out that there was a problem. His whole face was distressed and he looked at his pendant and back at George, a question mark almost visible in the air in front of him.

Hermione nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Lunches for you, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, Madam Rosmerta." She took a look at the basket and asked, "Can I return this by owl?"

"Oh, no, dear. It's charmed to return to the inn when you press right there. See that rune?"

Cinnamon brown eyes lit up with clear delight. "That's brilliant. Very practical magic." She eyed the boys, her equilibrium apparently restored. "Portable as well."

Fred took the basket in one hand and grabbed her left hand in his right. George took her right hand and let Fred do the get-out-of-our-way thing so they could start back to Hogwarts.

"Hey, Forge, guess what?"

"What?"

"Apparition Lessons this spring!"

"Wicked!"

Hermione smiled indulgently at them, a breeze tossing her wild curls about her head. Made George want to stop and just stare at her. He sighed a little. She squeezed his hand discreetly. "So, when you two are Apparating, will you take me places?"

"Oh. Well," Fred said slowly, "You went side-along with Dad, right?"

"I did. It was disconcerting."

Fred chuckled. "I know! So we'd have to be really sure of ourselves before we tried it with such a precious bit of cargo."

"Is that a yes or a no, Mr. Weasley?"

"It's a yes, Miss Granger. A yes-eventually."

"But really," George said, looking down at her and enjoying the way the sunlight made her hair glow with golden-red streaks, "it won't be for long yeah? You'll probably be able to take classes before the end of the year, if we ask Dad where. Oi! And then we can tell your parents about us after we all three pop into your backyard, yeah? That'd be very dramatic. We could even bring the singing confetti!" He was imagining that and shared a smile with Fred. But, Hermione's hand went a bit cold in his and he swung it, bringing it to his lips to kiss her fingers. "Afraid of Apparating there, Miss Granger?"

"Er, no. Um." She blew out a breath and disentangled her hands from both his and Fred's. Turning, she began walking backward up the path to Hogwarts, the breeze blowing her hair into her face until she made a disgruntled sound and cast a wandless binding charm to it so that it stayed put at the back of her head. "You know when my birthday is, right?"

"September nineteenth," the twins said promptly. Fred was smiling and George thought his brother looked like a first year getting something right in History of Magic. "We're getting good at this boyfriend thing, sweetheart."

She smiled shyly at them as she continued to walk backward. "You knew _that_ before we had our first kiss," she reminded them. Then, she looked worried. "So. You know when my birth _day_ is, but I think you've got the wrong . . . year."

George stopped in his tracks, staring at her. "What?"

"I was born in 1979."

* * *

 _ **A/N: No, they didn't know...**_


	35. Chapter Thirty-Four: Birthday Part Deux

_A/N: Y'all continue to blow me away with your willingness to read this story, to add it to your lists, and to review! Big thanks (and a curtsy, because it's Wednesday) to **ShayaLonnie** (author of the amazing megafic _**Debt of Time** _) for catching review #1400_ **.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Four: Birthday, Part Deux**

 ** _Road to Hogwarts, 1 April 1995_**

"1979?" Fred shook his head. "Don't try to take the mickey, Hermione," he said with a smile. "We're old hands, yeah? You can't get into Hogwarts until you're eleven and you started, let's see, we were second years . . .?"

"Nineteen-ninety," George supplied in answer, being inclined not to question their witch. "So you were only _ten_ that day? On the train?"

She nodded. "For the next couple of weeks or so."

Fred clenched his free hand into a tense fist. George drew closer to him, glad that no one else was on their sunny path just then. Fred blew out a harsh breath. "So you've been lying to us? This whole time?"

Hermione gave them a sharp jerk of her head. "I did not. You have never, in all the years we've known each other and talked and everything, asked me how old I was. Never. Not once. I know because I've been waiting for this question for months, if not years." Her tone was Slytherin-flat when she added, "You've _assumed_ , but you haven't _asked_."

"You've _let_ us assume," George countered, feeling off-balance and insecure all of a sudden. He loved this girl. Fred loved this girl. Why was he feeling like he'd just been dumped out of a Portkey too soon? "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"When?" she demanded, hands held out from her body. "I'm still me, George. I'm still the same girl who's been talking Portable Magic with you for years. The same one you invited over for New Year's." She laced her fingers together in front of her and dropped her voice. "Still the same Hermione you kissed on New Year's Eve and wanted to snog today."

"But, you're only fifteen," Fred murmured, sounding lost. George put an arm around him, thinking hard. "That means, that means you won't reach your majority for another year and a half."

* * *

Hermione nodded, releasing her hair from its binding so that it could blow freely and perhaps partially hide her face. Her stomach felt cold again, her heart was pounding in worry, and she felt almost ready to hyperventilate. _Yes, but I love you_ , she wanted to say. _I'm still the same; don't pull this Twins Against the World routine, please._

"I know."

They stood there, alternately looking at one another and glancing down at the ground in a triangle of sorts. The stillness was not to be believed, not for the three of them. She felt dreadful, really, but she didn't think she'd done anything inherently wrong. Except that, maybe, she could have told them how old she was back when they . . .

 _When they what?_ _When is a good time to just toss age into a conversation?_

She felt as if her heart were in her throat, but she tried to be brave. "Look. I know this has been . . . awkward. I'm sorry about that. And I don't want you to spend your day being awkward. It's your birthday." She tried to smile but failed miserably. Her ears were warm, the caracals telling her that George and Fred were thinking about her. As she was about them.

Fred gripped his pendant through his shirt and the tense, angry lines in his face relaxed. "Thing is, Hermione. I can't imagine celebrating today without you."

"Yeah," George said with a lopsided smile. "It's all we've thought about for weeks, really."

Fred swung the lunch basket up and back a bit and stepped toward her, free hand extended. "And if a bloke thinks about it, you're still you, like you said."

"Most brilliant witch in your year."

"And Merlin, you're even a year ahead of your year, yeah?"

Relief and joy rippled through her, warming her under her skin and burning in her eyes. George put an arm around her and one around Fred and they stood, still in the middle of the path to the castle, in a small, connected circle as she wrapped her arms around her wizards. "I guess I am, yeah," she admitted after a moment spent mastering her voice.

"So," Fred said, drawing the vowel sound out for a bit, "you're right. We never asked."

"Thought we knew," George added. "And, thinking about it, that's proper stupid of us, you know."

"Never assume anything about a witch. Didn't Dad tell us that when we were kids?"

"Dad or Bill."

She relaxed even further in their three-way embrace, pressing her nose into George's chest to inhale from that unique scent that was just him. He smelled like spices, soap, and sulphur, dangerous and wholesome all in one. She felt his silent laughter as she nuzzled his chest before moving on to Fred's. He smelled like ink, spices, and parchment, smart and methodical. "You two are perfect for me. You know that, don't you?" she murmured into the space they'd created amidst themselves.

She felt them both inhale sharply at the same moment and tension flared from the muscles in their chests and arms. She worried that she'd said something wrong or misstepped in some manner in the world of the pure-blooded wizard.

"Well, you're perfect for us, too," George said, his voice low and intimate. She glanced at him, peering up into his clear brown eyes and seeing only good things. Serious things. He kissed her, slanting his lips over hers in a tender affirmation. Fred grazed his teeth along her ear and she sighed into George's mouth.

"So, are we okay, now?" Fred wondered, leaning back and shifting the basket to his other hand, effectively popping their little romantic bubble.

"Merlin, I hope so," George said on a sigh. "'Mione?"

"So, first fight and all?"

They chuckled a bit. "That's what it felt like."

Fred wiggled his eyebrows in that way he had. "Brilliant! Now we get to snog and make up!" His face sort of crumpled just then, though, and he laughed. "After we eat. Apparently, I'm hungry."

* * *

 ** _Hogwarts_**

Fred and George had found the hidden room off the Entrance Hall that Bill had mentioned a long time ago. If you knew where to press, you could get a bit of stone wall to move out of the way. One of the things Fred and his brother had done the night before had been to prep this room in particular. They set up pranks, certainly, for the professors and a few others, but they'd also found this room and made sure there were no portraits that could spy on them and that it was dust-free and ready to be occupied.

 _"Not that I'm planning on shagging, just because we're of age," Fred had assured George with a slightly embarrassed laugh._

 _"Well that's good. Don't know if she's up for that. Don't know if I am, either. Merlin, Fred. That'd involve you and me both being naked, yeah?"_

 _They had stared at one another and laughed. "Yeah. No. All right, then. Still. I do want to be comfortable for the marathon birthday snog." Fred had pulled two things from his pocket. "See?" He tossed one to George._

 _"Cor! Mattresses? You have the charm to get them back to normal, right?"_

 _"I do. I'll just leave them here this size tonight, under, er, ah, that's a nice bit of cushion, isn't it?"_

This once had been some sort of anteroom, Fred was pretty sure, back in the day. There was a sideboard, a series of pegs for hanging up cloaks, and wall sconces that now held no candles nor torches. So, they'd come prepared to meet the lighting need and there were now candles here and there about the room.

But there was also Hermione and, remembering the conversation he and his twin had had the night before, he felt himself grow red in the face and uncomfortable. In a couple of different ways.

"Here, let's put that basket down on the sideboard," George suggested as Fred tried to master himself. He felt like a berk, just standing there, but he was still getting his mind and body accustomed to the fact that he'd seriously been thinking of shagging a girl who was very much underaged. He _had_ actually done some research and found that in Muggle England, the age of consent for sex was sixteen. He'd thought their girl—their _Muggle_ - _born_ witch—was sixteen, so thinking of shagging her from here to Hogsmeade had been a most pleasant fantasy.

But she wasn't of age yet, was she?

Well they weren't planning on shagging today, were they? No.

Snogging, though, had no majority concerns, he reminded himself. And immediately, he was back in celebration mode. "Thank you, sweetheart, for the lunch."

"Haven't even seen what Madam Rosmerta sent us, yet," Hermione reminded him.

George sent him a significant look. "Where are we going to sit, Big Brother?" George didn't pull that out too often, but it always made Fred feel a bit odd. Good, but odd. In his mind, there really wasn't a big brother between him and his twin, even though Fred knew he was older by a matter of thirteen minutes. The twins had been born at home and Bill said he'd kept time.

Hermione blinked in surprise at George's query. "I imagine, George," she said playfully, "that Fred has something in mind?"

"I certainly do."

"He certainly does!"

Fred found the two mattresses that he'd liberated from their dorm room and tossed one to George again. Then, on the open spot of the floor, the boys tossed their shrunken mattresses down, tugged their wands from their pockets and called out, " _Engorgio_!"

Hermione gasped and hopped up on the sideboard as the white and blue mattresses grew in size in the middle of the room. "Wow!"

"Pretty nice, eh?" George asked with a smirk,

Fred moved to kick the mattresses closer to one another. "Will this do for seating, Miss Granger?" he asked in his most formal tone.

She eyed it as if she were Snape looking at a potion—an image he banished from his head immediately. "Indeed. Impressive, Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley."

"You haven't seen—"

"Anything yet."

Fred and George made a game out of magically laying out their lunch. Hermione's expression was enraptured and proud and that made Fred feel perfectly splendid. At last, when it was out, they escorted her to the mattress and set her between the pair of them.

Later, Fred would have absolutely no recollection of what they ate for lunch. Because _dessert_ completely possessed his memory and imagination, giving him material that would far surpass any "educational" items his brothers might send in future.

Hermione finished off the last of something sweet and tart and leaned back to rest on her hands as she sat on one of the mattresses. "Madam Rosmerta is fantastic. I think we need to go back." Fred had to agree as he pressed the rune to return the empty basket to the innkeeper. Once it was gone, their girlfriend blinked her eyes and asked, "Are there afters?"

As the rectangle on his chest immediately warmed up to a remarkable—but not at all painful—degree, Fred could only manage to nod his head.

George did as well, but he went a bit further. "You, 'Mione, are the sweetest thing I see in this room so I vote you be the afters. Fred?"

"Absolutely." He shifted himself to his hands to lean in and taste his dessert. George, on her other side, stroked her arm up the soft, soft fabric of the white jumper she wore. Hermione sighed into Fred's mouth and he swept in to taste her, and being caressed in turn by her tongue and feasting upon her. George moved, but Fred didn't see him. All he did was hear when his twin whispered.

"'Mione. I know this is our birthday and everything."

Fred winced internally. He'd forgotten that part from something he and George had discussed the night before. "Yeah, sweetheart. We don't want you to be uncomfortable in any way." _Especially not after today's revelation_ , he didn't say.

"So, you make any boundaries, all right?"

Hermione's eyes were half-lidded as she leaned back on her elbows and studied them. Her lips were pink and lightly parted and her breath was coming heavily enough already for George to notice her chest moving underneath that amazingly soft jumper. "All right," she said, her voice husky and, Merlin, _sexy_ enough to get him even hotter, though he wasn't touching her at that moment. "Hands stay above the waist," she said in that same voice. "And, maybe, take off your robes?"

Both the twins had learned months since to wear their school robes around Hermione. Even if they were loose, or only partly closed. A great deal of manly dignity was preserved and occasional bouts of embarrassment were prevented thereby. But here, with her and her alone, Fred was fine with taking them off. After all, if a bloke's girlfriend wanted him to take off a layer of clothing, was he going to complain?

Not only _No_ , but _Hell, no_.

They complied, tossing their robes off and levitating them to the sideboard. Fred took out his pendant. "So, will you tell us what this is for?" He stretched out beside her on her right, for a change, and George took her left side, sliding his pendant out as well. They compared the dots and dashes. "They're different."

"Well, the date should be obvious," Hermione said.

"New Year's Eve, right."

She brushed George's cheek, then Fred's, with her lips. "First kiss."

George cocked his head. "Do the dots and lines come out to that date?"

"No, they can't," Fred said. "Different patterns." He had an idea and pushed a lock of Hermione's hair back from her face before skimming her skin with the tip of his nose. "So. Give us a hint?"

"You're brilliant wizards, I'm—"

George grinned and started to nibble on her neck. "Please, 'Mione? Just a little hint?"

She whimpered and the sound went straight to Fred's ever-hardening evidence of his regard for the girl.

"Morse Code," she whispered.

"Thank you." And the marathon began in earnest.

George eased her back on the mattress and explored her as far as he as allowed to go, atop the white cashmere, while Fred kissed her thoroughly. While Fred was on his side and fully lying down, George propped his head on one hand and played with the other, tracing patterns on her stomach and, when he wasn't interrupted, moving further north to brush the underside of the breasts he'd been dreaming about for months, if not at least the past year.

She moaned, their girl did, and he took that to be encouragement. He moved higher, cupping one breast and brushing his thumb over its peak, feeling her harden beneath his hand. He swallowed, felt he was all but panting, and moved to the other breast, until Hermione herself took a hand, so to speak. She pressed his hand down, showing him without words that she wanted more.

 _More_. "Merlin," he whispered, and proceeded to caress and squeeze at the pressure she indicated, being rewarded by her sounds as Fred released her lips to tongue her neck. Then, Fred took a peek at what he was doing and joined him, while George moved up to kiss their witch.

She brushed her hands up their chests and the next thing he knew, his shirt was unbuttoned and his pendant was hanging free over her body. He slipped his free hand under her jumper, just at the hem, and she arched up into him while he and Fred skimmed over her skin and silky underthings she wore.

Her hands were busy on skin as well, and Fred felt her fingers brush his flat nipples just as he reached the lacy fabric of her bra. He worried about the flies on his trousers at that point and he had to make a quick adjustment, hissing when even his own touch made his erection leap in his palm.

Then, he was back to Hermione and she was tracing patterns on his skin and George's. He even felt it. Dot-line-dot-dot.

He was distracted and focused on his chest where her finger was writing in code. Line-line-line. Dot-dot-dot-line. Dot.

And then, she murmured, "Is it really warm in here?"

Now, a bloke heard a lot of things in the dorms, but he didn't know if Hermione had. So, Fred decided to take her at her word and answer. "I don't know, but you're _hot_." She laughed breathlessly, and he felt everything inside him grow both lighter in happiness and heavy in sheer arousal. "Mmm," he said, biting his lips until he could occupy them against her skin. "Want you," he breathed against her, as soundlessly as he could, because he didn't want to frighten her.

George shifted, his knee inadvertently coming to rest on Hermione's thigh. He barely noticed until she squirmed a bit underneath his and Fred's ever-progressive snogging. Then, he felt her body rub against his erection and he froze, a groan working its way out of his chest.

She froze, too, but didn't pull away. Instead, she pushed his shirt back, off his shoulders. "Definitely too hot." While George was wrapping his mind around the fact that his girlfriend was partially undressing him, she did the same to Fred. She practically purred, running her hands over their skin and looking, well, like the most amazing, sexy woman he'd ever even imagined.

"Not fair," Fred said, his voice a mere rasp. He tugged at her jumper and she let him.

Then George slid the silky white camisole up and _she let him_.

And there she was, on the mattress with her hair in that wild, curly mess they loved, her face flushed, lips swollen, light love bites along both sides of her neck. Her breasts firm, perfect handfuls topped with rosy brown peaks under shiny white lace.

"Hermione," Fred murmured, his voice sounding as if he wanted to worship every part of her. "You're beautiful."

She smiled and rolled over a bit to tug on his shoulder. "And I'm with the handsomest wizards in Hogwarts."

George felt her drawing on his back as they kissed again, not too long after she'd pulled him down on top of her. Skin. All that _skin_. He felt it pressing into his own, even feeling her nipples pushing at him, though they hadn't dared to try to take her bra off. He felt her drawing a pattern on his back. Dot-line-dot-dot. Line-line-line. Dot-dot-dot-line. Dot.

He put it away in his memory and shifted so that she would be atop him. Fred laughed.

"Bloody good thing you and I work together so well," he said. And it was true. George and Fred could move in tandem on brooms or on the ground. They hardly had to speak.

Which was how Hermione wound up with perfectly matched love bites on her ribs, collarbone, and throat. And she, "not to be outdone," as she said, made sure to mark them as well.

Once he had her atop him, though, George couldn't seem to stop _moving_ against her, right _there_ , where he could feel the heat of her through her Muggle denims and even through his own trousers. Her eyes flew open and he stopped immediately, of course.

"Sorry, 'Mione, I—"

Shaking her head, she rocked against him as well, making him groan. " _Hands_ above the _waist_."

"That's not his hand," Fred said moving to sit between George's knees so he had access to Hermione's beautiful, almost-naked back.

"And this isn't my waist," she said, rocking again.

"And this isn't mine," Fred told her, moving to press his own erection against her back. He cupped her breasts in his hands with a lot more confidence than he had some unknown time ago. George had his hands just _above_ her waist, guiding her.

It was like they were making love, the three of them. All together. Fred caught his breath before releasing it on Hermione's shoulder.

She liked teeth, as well.

* * *

She had never felt so alive in her life.

She had orgasmed. _Twice_. With _two_ men. Yes, they were men, having reached their majority in the Wizarding World.

"I'm so happy," she whispered in George's shoulder. She was on top of him, getting her breath back. Fred was next to them, rubbing her sweaty skin and performing what he said was a mild _Scourgify_ on all three of them. She wasn't the only one who had been satisfied that afternoon.

George hugged her tightly against his chest and Fred reached over her back to hug her at the same time. "Best present in the world is you, sweetheart," he whispered just over her bra strap.

"The very best," George repeated in affirmation.

They rested, not speaking, until they heard the first groups of boisterous voices outside their little hideaway. "Guess we'd better go," she ventured to say.

Fred kissed her between her shoulder blades. "Yeah."

George sat up, even though she was still on his chest. She had to laugh. "You are so fit."

They rolled and scooted until they were off the mattresses and she sighed a little. Fred wrapped his arms around her whilst George gathered up shirts and her camisole. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Felt like it was _my_ birthday," she told him, smiling a little. "I hope you had a good time, too."

She heard the smile in his voice. "Best birthday in the history of Weasley birthdays. Really. I bet even Bill or Ginny didn't have a better one."

That he used family members as comparisons made her heart ache just a little, but Hermione resolved not to dwell on it. The dynamics of a family with seven children was bound to be vastly differently balanced than her own family's.

"And your birthday is in a few months," George said brightly, shrugging on his shirt and buttoning it up with flying fingers. "You'll be sixteen."

"Sixteen and thoroughly snogged," Fred added.

She grinned and moved out of his arms to get dressed again. "Hope I don't have to wait that long," she hinted.

They laughed quietly. "Doubtful," they said in unison. "Highly doubtful."


	36. Chapter Thirty-Five: Dueling

_**A/N:** I just had to thank you readers who dashed (ha, SWIDT?) off to look up the Morse Code to decipher Hermione's message on the pendants. :) You're fabulous. And sorry this is a bit late this morning - I overslept!_

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Five: Dueling**

 ** _Hogwarts, 18 April 1995_**

"The Third and Final Task of the Triwizard Tournament will be on the third of June," Dumbledore announced over dinner after the spring holiday. Hermione pulled out her quill and ink and marked the date down on her ever-updating planner.

Viktor and the rest of the students from his school had long grown used to her color-coded schedules. Since the twins' birthday—which had been highlighted in bright red ink on her planner—Hermione had devoted herself to revising for her O.W.L.s and seeking different ways to make magic portable. George and Fred were working on new products for making people laugh, which was laudable and they were good at it. She wanted to contribute her bit, too, as she'd been invested in the concept since at least her second year.

"Did you hear?" Viktor said near her ear.

"Hm?" She was checking to see if she'd need to alter her schedule to accommodate the Third Task.

"The Third Task vill be an obstacle course. It vill take place on your Qvidditch Pitch."

She nodded, remembering.

 _Dumbledore and a couple ministry officials had called her and the twins to his office, as well as Professor Snape. "Thanks to what we were able to learn—due to your exemplary powers of observation, Miss Granger, and your skills with charms, Messrs. Weasley—we have decided to change the date and time of the final task to prevent grievous events from taking place."_

 _"Still, there might be concerns, so I will be asking you to make yourselves available for that task since you are already aware of, er, circumstances and we won't put anyone new in danger."_

 _Fred and George had stood up and moved to flank her, though even they hadn't dared draw their wands in Dumbledore's presence. "Danger? She'll be in danger?"_

 _"I can defend myself, you know," she'd reminded them calmly._

 _They had sent her communicative looks before settling back to their seats. "What do we need to do?"_

"I'm glad they've got that settled. And if it's on the pitch, it will at least be more easily viewable than the Second Task."

The students who could hear her nodded, and she was about to return to her scheduling when Dumbledore actually surprised her.

"In addition," the Headmaster said, effectively cutting off the myriad conversations that had arisen in the wake of his announcement, "we will be having a dueling competition." He cast a glance over each table in the Hall. "I realize that many of you are revising for your exams, so we will make the competition itself very brief. One day, in fact. On St. George's Day."

Hermione swore under her breath. "But that's this Sunday!"

"As it is this Sunday," the Headmaster went on to say, "your Heads of House or Headmasters will be meeting with you this evening to explain the rules and timetables. All you need to know right now is that it will be open to everyone save the Champions. All further questions should be directed to your Heads. Have a good rest of your day."

Her ears were getting quite warm, so she focused her attention across the Hall to the Gryffindor table. Her boyfriends were there, their eyes wide with questions. She wondered what they were. And she knew that, as she thought of them, their pendants would grow warm as well, so they'd know she was reciprocating their regard.

She loved magic.

After breakfast, everyone scattered to go to classes and she was gathering up her writing materials when George and Fred flanked her, sort of surrounding her as they pressed her against the table. Startled, she looked about to see that the maroon and beige of the Durmstrang spring uniform had melted away from her end of the table, so it was just her and her boyfriends.

And their eyes, _Merlin_. Their eyes were _glowing_. But they weren't smiling. If they'd been Muggles, she might have thought there were having some sort of religious experience.

"Are you two all right?" she wondered, her voice low and soft. How did one speak to a young man experiencing . . . whatever it was? Did it have to do with the upcoming dueling contest?

Fred shook his head, not taking his focus from her face as he slid his fingers up her throat. Then, just under and behind her right ear, she felt it.

 _Dot-line-dot-dot. Line-line-line. Dot-dot-dot-line. Dot_.

And she felt it again, on the inside of her opposite wrist, where George had lightly encircled her. _Dot-line-dot-dot. Line-line-line. Dot-dot-dot-line. Dot_.

It took her a full minute to interpret, and when she did, she felt— _so much_. But they were in the Great Hall, and there was an ebbing and flowing of students around them, so discussing feelings was not an option. Instead, she pressed her forehead into first one firmly muscled chest, then the other, trying to find her voice. Her real voice, not the flat one she had learned to call upon in moments of stress.

"So, I gather you found a book on Morse Code?"

"'Mione," George murmured into the palm of her hand. "You're the bravest girl in England."

She opened her mouth to question that, but Fred kissed the corner of her lips to hush her. "Beautiful, too."

"Brilliant, entirely."

They each tangled a hand in her hair, and she tried to figure them out by studying their eyes, as she had so often over the years. They were shining. Emotion-filled and even—watery?

Were there tears, there?

"So it's no wonder, you see—"

"That we love you," they said together, smiles gone, expressions sincere and serious.

"Absolutely," Fred tagged on.

George followed that with a smiling, "Entirely," before he said, "I know, our timing is the worst ever."

"But we couldn't wait until tonight. We figured it out this morning."

"We'd asked Bill for a book, you see, and—"

It was as if a wave was cresting in her body, rolling in from the sea of her life to reach its white, frothy expectation right there that Tuesday morning. She laughed lightly, because she was so happy. "You're the best. And I love you both. Absolutely _and_ entirely." She placed a palm over the center of each boy's chest, feeling the faint outline of her gift to them under layers of school robes, ties, and shirts. "Just remember who said it first."

Fred moved back a bit, tugging on her hand. "Well, actually, _we_ did."

She gasped in protest. George took her school bag and slung it over his shoulder. "You know, with actual words instead of dots."

"You're impossible, the pair of you."

"You like us impossible!"

" _I love you_ impossible."

Fred grinned down at her, his joy a palpable thing. Without warning, he scooped her up and twirled her around, right there in front of the passing students and lingering professors and even Filch. "You do, don't you," he said in a fierce, possessive whisper.

He put her down and George engulfed her in a quick, comprehensive embrace that was brief enough to avoid even a disapproving cough from McGonagall. "Yeah, I really do."

* * *

 ** _23 April 1995_**

The day was glorious. It was the kind of day, by and large, that travel agents would choose to take promotional pictures for their companies. _Come to Scotland and see the Ancient Sights!_

Hermione had to smile about it. Hogwarts Castle, after all, was not actually seen by Muggles so any postcard would show an old ruin, not the majestic establishment she lived in for much of her growing up years. As if rising from the green grass and rich earth, the castle's stones were ancient, yet the building was in good repair. She could see the wards about it as she concentrated. Runes hung in the air with invisible power. Towers thrust into the nearly cloudless sky in triumph and strength.

And the fields were peppered with healthy, vibrant young people with just enough mature faces to keep it real.

But any notional travel agents would have to leave, because all those people were armed with magic wands and many of them were preparing to duel with them.

"Miss Granger."

She shielded her eyes against the sun when she looked up at Professor Snape. "Yes, sir?"

"Are you quite ready? This promises to be a rather long day." His tone was dismissive, but his eyes were sharp and concerned for her. She had learned long ago that his position as Head of House had something to do with his treatment of the different blood-castes and families of the Wizarding World. He wasn't allowed to show favoritism to a Muggle-born, but since she was in his House, he could treat her with polite neutrality in front of others. Which he did.

All while assisting her in independent study classes, advanced Defense spellwork, permission for her to take exams early, and turning aside when she hexed someone in her own defense. He gave her subtle hints on deportment and the Slytherin mindset that had helped her immeasurably over the years. So, she ignored his voice and answered the intent in his eyes.

"I am, sir. As you know, the only challenger I have aside from Selwyn is your godson."

"His parents are here, you know." A nod of her professor's dark head indicated a trio of platinum blonds off to the right. "Draco has been rather vocal about his dislike of you."

" _Dislike_ is such a _polite_ term," she remarked.

"In _deed_. So you'll duel Draco before Selwyn. Our house only has the three duelists, thanks to you." He almost sneered that last.

She withheld her smile. "I did hear something to that effect after our House meeting."

"Your swains in Gryffindor have been run ragged all morning; taking bets, apparently."

She allowed a small smile to slip out. "Well, they do have plans. How many duels will be happening there this morning, do you know?"

"Twenty-five, if you can believe that."

She sighed and shook her head. "Well, they are a reckless House."

"Indeed." He cast a _Tempus_ charm and stared at it for a few moments. "Your first duel is in fifteen minutes, there," he said with a nod in the direction of a square marked in silver and green. "Be advised that there will be wards cast." He slanted an amused glance at her. "I do not advise bringing your Patronus into play."

"Nor will I. Your godson _is_ planning on dueling by himself, is he not? No minions, this morning?"

Her Head of House let out a very small sigh. "Not this morning. His parents, remember."

"In _deed_."

As Professor Snape strode away to greet his friends, she could have sworn she heard him chuckle.

* * *

Fred was torn, and that was a shame. In front of him, McLaggen was facing off against Angelina. That was just plain stupid, because Angelina was going to turn McLaggen's arse into fertilizer.

Still, whilst this was happening, Fred had a great big cool spot on his chest, which meant his girlfriend hadn't thought about him in a while. She was preparing for her duel. He was sincerely concerned for her, because though Malfoy was a little tosser, he was a pure-blood tosser in a House where that was serious as anything. If Hermione took him down in an untoward manner, there could be repercussions.

"It's starting," George murmured.

"Is she all right?"

"No, our duel? Angelina and McDraggarse?" George looked distracted as well, but he was doing his bit and sticking it out with their House.

Still, in a nod to the Quidditch World Cup the prior summer, George had suggested they paint their colors on their cheeks. One cheek for Gryffindor, the other for Slytherin, with a great big HJG in the middle of the green and silver.

No one else proclaimed anything like a dual loyalty, but many of the younger years had immediately adopted the face paint. Fred was proud of them, but he still wanted to watch their witch duel. "How about one of us go now and one for the next one." That Hermione would have a second duel was a given, of course.

George nodded. "Go on, then. You look desperate, Gred." George clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll watch the next one."

"Angie! Angie! Angie!" Their Quidditch Captain—well, she would be, when they had a team again—stood triumphantly over the stunned form of Cormac McLaggen.

"Huzzah!" George and Fred called. Then, George pushed Fred off in the direction of the Slytherin dueling square. "Go on, then. Let her know we're both with her, yeah?"

"Thanks, Georgie!"

Fred wasn't even remotely cool about it; he dashed over the grassy expanse, past the line of Hufflepuff duelists who had decided to go all at once, apparently. Then, he was past the warded Ravenclaw square, where the geniuses weren't dueling at all, but engaged in another heated debate over something. The French students of Beauxbatons were in a circle, counting off, he thought. The Durmstrangers were having four people dueling at the moment, whilst others seemed to be waiting their turns.

At the final warded area, Hermione was facing off against Malfoy. There was no cheering, there; just a silent line of snakes watching the two in the square. Justin Selwyn, the male seventh year Prefect of that House, was watching with his arms crossed. Fred didn't quite dare to approach him just in case Hermione would be accused of having had her boyfriends distract a future opponent.

So he watched, fascinated and enthralled as always to watch Hermione Granger kick somebody's arse. She wore her school uniform skirt and blouse, with the tie slightly loose about the collar. Her hair was plaited and fell over her left shoulder. The look in her eyes could not have been more disdainful if she had been Severus Snape.

Fred had missed the beginning of the duel, barely, but he was privileged enough to watch it end.

" _Diffindo_!" Malfoy shouted with a wicked twist of his wand.

That was usually a charm used to do delicate cutting on fabric, but Fred winced because he knew that it could cut a person, too. He himself had a scar on the back of one leg because of it. Hermione, though, was always shielded. He and George had even discussed it once, a year or so ago, because they had briefly wondered how to date the girl and even get a kiss if she was constantly surrounded by her own personal _Protego_.

While Malfoy set his jaw and looked to be growling, Hermione did a couple of nonverbal spells that they'd practiced in DADA that year. He remembered the first time he'd seen her act nonverbally and without her wand—she'd only been, what, eleven, maybe? Insane, that. So that she could basically set Malfoy shouting over a stinging hex before sending him up in a very simple _Wingardium Leviosa_ —something the twins had done years before to her, which still made him smile to remember—and then disarm him without uttering a word wasn't even remotely surprising.

Not to Fred. Not to Selwyn, whom he saw nodding faintly off by himself. Not to Snape. And not to Lupin, who had decided to watch this duel over any of the others.

But Draco Malfoy's parents . . .

"Severus! What is that girl doing to my son?"

"Well, that last appeared to be a wandless _Expelliarmus_ , Lucius," Professor Snape said in his laconic manner. "Duel to Miss Granger. Now let him down and give him back his wand, Miss Granger."

"Severus! That's impossible. Who is assisting—?"

Fred felt his muscles tighten in silent defense of his girlfriend and her amazing dueling skills. To his surprise and gratification, many in her House spoke up for her.

"Professor Snape, Granger's _not_ cheating."

"I swear it, Professor Snape. I've seen her do that in DADA."

"She's been able to cast a Patronus all year!"

"She took Krum in their duel last week, too!"

Fred felt his chest swell in pride of his Hermione as so many spoke on her behalf. It was about bloody time, it was. Hermione, though, seemed to be in some distress; when the wards collapsed, he moved toward her immediately. "Hey, great job."

"Fred!" She leaned into him and pressed her face against his shoulder.

The pendant on his chest warmed instantly and she placed her hand over it as he took her briefly into his embrace. "Hey, where're Gideon and Fabian?" Her ears were bare.

She leaned back with a small smile, though her eyes were concerned and serious. "They're safely tucked away in the dorm. I even warded them. I didn't want to be distracted, you know?"

"Makes perfect sense," he said. And it did. "Because you know that the little blighters would've been very, very warm all day." He pulled her in for a so-chaste-Aunt-Muriel-would-approve kiss before turning to see how the post-duel controversy was resolved.

"She's a Mudblood!" Lucius Malfoy was saying, his voice a low, angry grind. Malfoy the Younger stood next to him, his hair still a mess from having been forcefully levitated, nodding like an idiot. "She can't possibly have disarmed my son—my son of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, mind—without so much as a word, Severus! _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_!"

 _Purity Will Always Conquer_. "What's that, his motto?" Fred whispered into Hermione's ear.

"They're the Words of House Malfoy," she murmured back, watching the blond family through narrowed eyes. "Malfoy has them practically carved behind his eyelids, I'm sure. It's all he can see or think."

"You know, that's really kind of sad." Fred wrapped his arm around her shoulder tightly and squeezed her into his side. He just felt like he needed to.

She sighed in a warm, comfortable way that made him feel taller and stronger than he really was. "It is, isn't it? I mean, I see . . . you. You and George. A lot. In my head. And you're ever so much more comforting than Latin."

He laughed, then, though he was deeply moved in a sharp, sudden way that surprised him. Wouldn't do to show it here, though, when the Malfoys were trying to malign his girlfriend. "Good to know, sweetheart. Good to know."

Snape made some sort of gesture with his wand before beckoning to Hermione. Fred went as well, of course, because he wasn't going to let her go into a hostile area without him.

As they did so, cheers rang out from the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang dueling squares, and there was a series of red and gold sparking explosions from the Gryffindor duelists.

* * *

"I'm actually not a boxer," Hermione quietly reminded her boyfriends as she prepared for her final duel. She had defeated Justin Selwyn, which he'd accepted with a smile and a side-on hug that had shocked her as much as it had annoyed George and Fred. Just now, the two of them were massaging her shoulders and her hands.

George, in front of her, was lovingly working the muscles and joints in her wand hand as well as the muscles of her forearms. "You're far too pretty to be a boxer," he said, "but I know it's exhausting."

Fred blew lightly across her ear so that she shivered a little under the warm spring sun. "There's a reason we're not doing it, you know."

"Dueling? I had wondered."

"As if we'd ever want to think about facing you again. We'd have to make a serious go of it, 'Mione," George told her before lightly kissing the inside of her wrist. "Don't think I could do that."

"Nor me," Fred said casually. He continued to rub her shoulders, which she appreciated even if she had to think about what they'd said.

"I'm nervous," she told them quietly. "Stasia Ivanova is my friend, but she is highly competitive. And then there's Davies in Hufflepuff. He might be a 'Puff, but he's very careful with his shields and such. And Chang won in Ravenclaw, and she hates me. Who won the mêlée in your House?"

Though they smiled at the word she gave it, the word mêlée was pretty accurate. Sure, after Angelina had triumphed over McLaggen, their contenders had grown impatient and fought in two nice little lines, but lions didn't fight pretty, that was for certain. "Towler," George told her. "You know, after the prank with his pyjamas that one time, he shaped up all right."

"Honestly, you two." She was trying very hard to settle herself. She had worked hard to become a competent duelist; she'd had to. Winning over Viktor the week before had been a huge, huge deal for her. Thankfully, he was a strong, generous man and didn't hold her victory against her. But she felt really uncomfortable. Stasia was a friend. A good friend. The kind of friend to invite her to her home in Russia to meet her parents who were a triad. Maybe she'd get lucky and not have to face Stasia at all?

George frowned and looked her in the eye. "Hey. What are you thinking? Your hands just went all cold."

"Just thinking of possible matches."

"Well, remember we love you," Fred said quietly. "Even if that Blanc fellow from Beauxbatons knocks you off your feet in the first ten seconds."

"Will the duelists from each house come to the front here, please," the Headmaster called, using a magically amplified voice.

"Go on. You'll be fine," George said, kissing her cheek.

Fred kissed her other one. "Just remember not to use your Patronus."

So, she was laughing a little as she approached the line of victors. She was never going to live that down, was she? _Hermione Jean Granger, first duelist whose Patronus got stuck in the dueling ward_.

Excellent. Well, so long as the term _Mudblood_ wasn't in that appellation, she supposed it beat a kick in the teeth.

She smiled at Stasia in the final line-up. The older witch grinned at her, too. "So. I will tell you, Hermione, that I do not want to face you in a duel."

"Likewise, Stasia. It'd make me quite unhappy to wrap you up with bandaging as I did with Viktor months ago."

The two of them enjoyed the memory as the others joined them in the line. Then, Dumbledore continued to speak in his elevated tone. "Well, ladies and gentlemen. Congratulations. You are all Dueling Champions." He paused and there was an awkward silence before some students started to applaud. "You will all be awarded with a certificate and a new cloak or magical wand holster, as you choose. But the real reward will be your participation in the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

Two nearly identical voices rose over the instant cacophony. "What the bloody hell?"

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Oh. Was that a cliff? That I'm going to leave you hanging from until Monday? Why yes, yes it was . . ._

 _The Morse Code the boys figured out spelled "Love". The pendants Hermione gave them basically communicated that she loved them, though in a different pattern of words for each of them. (I found such pendants, as herein described, on Etsy.) The House Words are mentioned on the Harry Potter Wikia (thank you, **DomBoe**!) but I saw them first in **ShayaLonnie's** story, _**The Debt of Time** _._


	37. Chapter Thirty-Six: Third Task

_**A/N:** You folks are awesome. :) I loved the ideas and indignation from the last chapter. Thank you for reading and dropping me the notes! Special thanks to **OHBrie** , who caught review #1500. The mind boggles!_

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Six: Third Task**

 ** _Hogwarts, 3 June 1995_**

"Sweetheart, do you have any idea what that does to a man?" Hermione thrilled at the lust-drop in Fred's voice as she wrapped her legs around his hips on the transfigured sofa in an unused classroom on the second floor. He ground into her and she moaned softly into his shoulder.

"Tell me," she directed him, shoving her hands up under his shirt. They only had a few more minutes before she'd have to leave for the Third Task, so they'd opted for a quick and intense snog.

George had been taking "a very long shower" so if he didn't make it down to them in time, Fred had said with a wicked gleam, he "hoped he'd had a good time alone."

Because Hermione didn't have nearly enough images in her private fantasy catalogue for her boyfriends so now she got to add "masturbating in the shower". Lovely. In the month between the dueling competition—and her surprising inclusion into the Obstacle Course as, well, one of the _obstacles_ —there had been little time for snogging. She had O.W.L. exams to revise for and there were spells to learn, and she'd researched to find that there was often a question to test for wisdom or common sense, or sometimes courage. Even if she wasn't competing, she had felt compelled to understand the Obstacle Course as thoroughly as she could.

So quality together time with her wizards had been lacking of late. "Tell me," she insisted again before scraping her teeth over his ear.

He swore under his breath before his hips ceased their steady grind and started thrusting erratically. This didn't bother her as it had once, months ago, when she'd worried about any tell tale signs of their passion. She had learned how to do a good, silent _Scourgify_. Because sometimes? Her boyfriends found the most creative places to drive her insane.

"Hermione…" he half-shouted into her neck. "That. It feels like that. Like, like pressure coming from the earth, with all the best, naughtiest, most exciting moments of my whole life. Surrounded in heat and warmth and cinnamon and apples."

"So, it makes you feel like you've tupped a naughty apple pie?"

He laughed, a breathless sound that made her smile. "Well, it was really good apple pie."

She eyed him carefully. "With . . . cream, yeah?"

His erection renewed itself in a breath. "Oh, sweetheart, you have to stop that. You're so sexy with your words." She winked at him and he groaned and would have pushed a boundary, likely, but his wand started playing the _Hail to the Queen_ as the door opened and their missing third slipped in.

"Merlin, time for you to go already. And I only just found you!" George laughed and crossed the room to pull Fred up before doing the same with Hermione. "You smell amazing. Dunno, Fred. Can we let her go out in front of everyone smelling like sex?"

"Well, he rather owes me one," Hermione dared to say, with a smile at Fred.

He blushed. "I ran out of time!"

"I'll make it up to you," the boys said in unison before all three of them were laughing a little.

Hermione slipped her tie back over her head, freshened her blouse, and abandoned the braid in her hair. She had to report to the Quidditch Pitch.

 _"You fine duelists have given evidence of your presence of mind and your skill with your wands. You are also dedicated to the art of Defense. To honor that and you, all of you are winners here, today, and all of you will be included in the Third Task as Aggres_ sors."

Dumbledore had met with the six winners in a private meeting the evening after the dueling competition, in his office. It had been intimidating, but Hermione couldn't deny that she was proud to be included in the group.

 _Dear Mum and Dad_ , (she had written)

 _Hope you are doing well. I am, indeed. The dueling competition I wrote you about before was quite challenging, but I won for my House. And now, all of the winners (there are six of us, including my friend Stasia from Durmstrang) are going to be in the last competition before the end of the year. Don't worry, I'm an obstacle in the Obstacle Course._

 _I should be totally safe, but I plan on wearing some body armor anyway. A girl can't be too careful, right, Dad?_

 _Revising for exams is going well. I have my timetable and I feel good about things. Frankly, the Obstacle Course comes before exams, so I'm more focused on that than anything._

 _I'll write soon. I think I'll be getting invited to Russia this summer! So, let me know when we're going to France, all right?_

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

She had created more Portable Magic for her robe for the Obstacle Course, and she Summoned it from the Great Hall. " _Accio_ , Hermione's Course Robes!"

Fred and George, and half a dozen other people, were all staring at her as some plain black school robes sailed to her hands from the Dungeons.

Professor Flitwick was there, too. "Well done, Miss Granger. Twenty points to Slytherin."

"Here, let's get that on you, love," George said, taking her robe and, slowly, raising his eyebrows into his fringe. "Merlin, you've got this warded."

"Portable Magic," she said with a sly look. "Want some?"

After George held the robes for her to get her arms in the sleeves, Fred fastened the front, smoothing the lapels in a nearly inappropriate way. "Definitely," he murmured.

George kissed her neck above her collar. "Absolutely."

"Right, then. Later. Now, I've got some Champions to target."

"She sounds so hot when she's planning to hex someone, Forge."

"You know it, Gred!"

* * *

They'd practiced, she and the other winners, on the Obstacle Course the day before. Dumbledore and some people from the International Association of Wizarding Games had established the Course, the timekeeping, and the security wards.

 _"Why are there such heavy wards, Headmaster?" Hermione had inquired._

 _He appeared to wrestle with himself over something before exchanging a look with Professor Snape, who drew her aside and cast a quick_ Muffliato _._

 _He gave the longest speech she'd ever heard from him outside of Potions. "Miss Granger. I am telling you this because I trust it will go no further. Not even to those twin lion cubs, understand. I don't know if you entirely realize how important your observations earlier this year were, nor how much you have benefited many in the Wizarding World. For now, suffice it to say that we think we have been able to entirely do away with a great evil. A Dark Wizard of the likes you have never seen. And it was because of what you and those regrettable lions were able to do. Understand?"_

 _Her heart had been pounding and a hundred questions leapt to her tongue. But. She had learnt all too well of discretion. So she'd waited._

 _"We have wards all around the pitch because we have to allow for spectators as a courtesy." He'd said that word with bored disdain, but Hermione had been hard put not to smile. "And we have people in our tournament who are of interest to our guests, perhaps. And we are not entirely sanguine as to everyone's entire safety."_

 _"You're not talking about Viktor Krum," Hermione had said with assurance._

 _"No, I am not."_

Fred and George, her "regrettable lions", had been tasked with trying to break the wards between the spectators and the Course, seeing if they could find ways through them or any weaknesses in them. Though it wasn't something that would gain them recognition, they said Dumbledore would write them a testimonial once the Triwizard Tournament was over.

Hermione could not have been more proud.

She took her place on the Course under the glowing runes which spelt her name in the air over the grass. Across from her and a little way toward the beginning of the Course, Mattieu Blanc stood in his school robes, wand at the ready. Hermione herself was the final obstacle, to greet the Champion as he or she emerged from a Boggart Chamber.

George and Fred, she was sure, would find that to be "Wicked".

The stadium seats were filling up to her right. Her position was just at the center point of the field, for the Course went around and about, along a marked route, with different challenges such as encountering magical creatures, going through constructed fields with magical items that would have to be neutralized, and doing physical stages where they would be "attacked" by the dueling winners. A question from a projected Sphinx would mark the start of each contestant's time, and they wouldn't end until they'd defeated their boggart, defeated Hermione in a final duel or escaped her, and then crossed into a charmed circle.

The Champion with the best time would be declared the winner of the event and the overall winner would receive a brand new Triwizard Cup, constructed by the Heads of the competing Schools within the last month. Hermione had seen it and thought it was incredible. Glowing blue and white, with the shields of all the schools worked in silver around the lip, there was a blank plate that would hold the winner's name and the year when the winner was decided.

"Welcome to the Third and Final Task of the Triwizard Tournament!" Dumbledore's voice echoed about, even bouncing off the wards. Clouds hovered overhead, allowing ribbons of sunlight to slant down to the Obstacle Course, where they might glance off of forged frames for different obstacles or where they'd dance around a duelist waiting to hex a Champion. She could see the wards—milky white in places with ribbons of pure power swirling through.

Beyond them, were the guests. Even the Weasley family would be there for the Tournament, the twins had said. Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in attendance, where the Champions' families were hosted. Viktor's family was present as well, he'd told her. He planned to introduce her later.

Stasia had said her parents had come as well, since she was part of the Third Task. Hermione had a great wish to meet them. But she put her curiosity on hold for she had work to do today.

"You don't have to defeat each Champion, Miss Granger," the Headmaster had informed her. "Just make them work for it, and no playing favorites."

"I would never," she'd told him firmly.

And she wouldn't. None of the Champions would get a pass from her.

"Today, the Champions will be facing an Obstacle Course that will challenge their wisdom, magical prowess, agility, courage, and speed. On the Course now you see the dueling champions of all the participating schools." He proceeded to introduce them, one by one, and they each fired—as directed—colored sparks from their wands.

When her name was called, Hermione was gratified by the loud cheering section she had in her own House. Astonished, but gratified. She smiled up at the green and silver section, but also at two very special young men with fiery hair and enormous smiles she knew were just for her.

"Go, Granger!"

Mattieu Blanc laughed softly. "This should be very interesting, _non_?"

"Indeed," she called back.

The Champions went in reverse order of their standing. This meant that Fleur Delacour was the first through the Course. A running Tempus Display hung in the sky near to where Hermione herself waited at her station. She could follow some of the course, though, without moving. The French student answered the Sphinx's question easily, but she faltered at the Disarming obstacle. Still, she persevered only to be hexed by Towler from Gryffindor.

After another magical obstacle, Delacour had to run and jump over small pits with stinging faeries in them, during which Stasia tried to hex her. Fleur, though, was extremely fast and agile and she did well. Eventually, with evidences of slicing hexes, a stinging hex, and bruises on her cheekbones, she reached the Boggart Chamber.

Hermione tensed right outside of it and the stadium went very quiet, for they couldn't see the Champion whilst she was within the Chamber. Hermione thought that to be very fair; a person's deepest fear was intensely personal, and they shouldn't have it tossed before utter strangers on an international stage such as this.

After a few minutes, Fleur emerged from the Chamber with her eyes wide and her knuckles white on her wand.

"Now, there's only me," Hermione told her in French, standing between Delacour and the circle. She could only use non-paralyzing hexes, and nothing that took the Champion off the ground. They had to be able to persevere to the goal, even if they had to crawl.

Hermione went for the _Steleus_ Hex, because sneezing—she had learnt in duels—was a great distractor and would affect the girl's time. Fleur managed to shield herself from it and reached the circle without further incident.

The stands went wild.

"Clearly, a success," Blanc called from his station.

"Quite."

Diggory came through next, and his time was better until he reached the Boggart Chamber, where he stalled out for longer than his predecessor. From the stands, a man called out for Dumbledore to investigate, but the Headmaster just held up a hand and waited.

At length, Diggory staggered out of the Chamber and Hermione cleared her throat. "Just one more, Diggory."

He blinked, his face white, but he surprised her by attacking her first with a Stinging Hex that hit her neck.

It hurt like blazes, but she'd fought through such pain before, so Hermione aimed and hit Diggory with the _Colloshoo_ Hex, which caused his shoes to stick to the ground.

"Oi!" he shouted, tugging at his feet and using valuable time. He scowled and swore under his breath before a sudden grin lit his features. Casting the Hex-Breaker, he offered her half a salute with his wand before hurrying to the warded circle. "Ha! Well done, Granger."

She smiled, but didn't answer; she was rather occupied with healing herself as Diggory left the Course.

"A Galleon toss has decided our third contestant, for both Viktor Krum of Durmstrang and Harry Potter of Hogwarts are tied in their points to date. This will be the deciding event. Heads to Krum, Tails, Potter. Ms. Amelia Bones, of our Department of Magical Law Enforcement, will flip the coin for us."

Hermione watched as the golden Galleon spun in the air to land on a table where the announcing was happening. "Heads!" Ms. Bones called clearly.

"Viktor Krum!"

Her friend appeared startled at the first Obstacle and she made a note to ask him why, later, but he answered the question quickly enough before doing a brilliant job of conquering each subsequent challenge. He was met by hexes and jinxes as well, so that by the time he reached the Boggart Chamber, his Durmstrang jumper looked to have seen much better days.

His time in the Chamber seemed long to Hermione, but then she heard him scream and then curse in his native tongue before pushing himself into the open air again. Like the others, he looked tense and his hands were in fists.

Then, he moved to her. "I am your final Challenge," she informed him.

The tension seemed to slide from him and he even grinned. She put up a simple _Protego_ and launched a Stinging hex at him. He swore and aimed at her, too, but something came over her and she called out, " _Ferula_ " whilst aiming at his leg.

He laughed and tried to run past her, but her charm had basically immobilized his leg so he had to limp. He fell on the grass and, still laughing, half-crawled past her.

She didn't hex him again, and his extremely good time flared over the final circle.

"Very amusing," he told her as he unwound the splint and bandaging from his leg. "A memory from our first duel."

"Just for you, Viktor. Thank you for smiling about it."

"You are a very scary duelist. That you played a joke on me is something to smile about." He got to his feet with grace. "Stasia says you will be visiting her this summer?"

" _Da_."

"Very good. I must go now. Be safe."

Viktor moved out of the Obstacle Course area to appreciative applause.

"And now, our final Champion, Harry Potter!" Dumbledore's prejudices could be heard even in his Big Event Voice. There was riotous noise in the stands and Hermione looked up at all the spectators for a moment. Something was bothering her, but she didn't know what it was. Was it the continuous aura presented by the wards? Was it just that the Third Task was almost over and so, too, would her involvement be? And then her friends would be going back to Durmstrang? Was it just the magic of the Course itself? She and the other duelists had been surrounded by it longer than anyone.

Perhaps it was the boggart? Did it have an aura?

Trying to shake it off, she found her boyfriends again, as they were cheering in the family box area for Potter. They saw her and waved and she nodded to them as well, thinking about them hard so they'd feel it in their pendants. Mrs. Weasley scowled at her for half a heartbeat before continuing to cheer for Potter.

Hermione's fellow duelists made the occasional exclamation as they hit or missed him. It seemed that he was making extremely good time, so she was rolling her shoulders and wondering what spell to use earlier than anticipated. He had a slice on one cheek and his trousers were torn by the time he reached the Boggart Chamber.

She moved, preparing herself, wondering how fearsome his boggart was. Rumor had it that he'd faced death before, as a very small child. Did that experience affect his boggart?

Then, he leapt from the chamber, face set, green eyes stern as he approached her. As she'd done with the others, she stepped between him and the final circle. "I am your last obstacle."

"Really, Granger?" He chuckled and murmured, " _Expelliarmus_."

"Ah!" She had not shielded her wand for this event. "Bloody hell!"

He ran right by her to the circle and she let loose with a wandless physical shield, such as she projected years ago.

He hit it and laughed before casting a massive " _Bombarda_!" to break the shield and enter the final circle.

"Well done, Potter," she said with a bow. And her focus was ever-so-briefly on the ground so she saw it . . . move.

"Watch out!" she called to him as the crowds and their wild noises got all excited over Potter's winning time. Dumbledore was saying something, but Hermione didn't hear it. She only saw that the ground broke and a rat emerged from the grass. A huge rat with a malevolence in its gaze that she found eerie. "Potter, watch out!" she called again.

"It's just a—bloody effing—mmf!"

The rat transformed in one shuddering breath into a pudgy, pale man with a weepy nose and grasping fingers. "Harry! Mine! _Stupefy_!"

"No!" Hermione propelled herself into the circle and leapt between the Animagus and Potter, her shield already pushing outward. " _Protego Duo_!" she shouted, indicating Potter with the intent of her spellcasting. She wanted the stunned boy protected from any future magical and physical threats the wet-nosed intruder presented.

Her focus was tight. She heard nothing. She saw nothing aside from Potter, the grass, and the Animagus, who fell back on his arse and waved his wand at her and Potter to absolutely no avail. She reclaimed her wand from Potter's motionless grip and layered hex upon hex on the Animagus. Wandless, she cast with one hand, her other held her wand with which she cast silently, until the rat was petrified, half in and half out of the earth, his knees reversed, a tail sprouting from a human posterior, his feet bare and still and Stuck to the ground. Then she bound him with rope and felt able to breathe at last. Her brain felt like scrambled eggs as she aimed her wand at Potter. " _Finite Incantatem_ ," she whispered.

Bounding to his feet, Potter made a disgusted sound as he rested his hand on her shoulder. "Very not bad, Granger." He turned to the stands. "It's Pettigrew!" Then, he shoved her just a bit, in a teasing manner. "And me just lying about while you took him down."

She blinked as the world rushed back around her, along with all the other duelists who came to surround her and Potter, their wands pointed directly at the half-buried Animagus. "What the hell, Granger?" Towler asked, wide-eyed.

"She saved my ruddy arse," Potter admitted. "Thanks, Granger."

"You're welcome, of course," she said, not taking her eyes off the man at their feet.

She could feel a _whoosh_ when the security wards were dismantled. Dumbledore appeared within the final circle, along with others. The names sped past her, but she knew they'd tuck themselves away in her memory for later.

Stasia moved quickly to her side amidst the chaos, once Pettigrew had been levitated and identified. "Are you all right, my friend?"

Hermione nodded, blowing out a breath. "He came out of the ground. Must have been how he got past the wards."

"Likely, yes. Very odd. Do you know who he is?"

"Not entirely, but he tried to get to Potter, so . . ."

" _Da_. Ah, your partners are here." Stasia smiled a little. "George and Fred," she called to them, though it was clear she didn't know which name went with which twin. "You are coming with Hermione to visit me in August, yes?"

"Half a mo'," Fred said, his tone flat and distracted. He and George surrounded Hermione, and she sighed into Fred's chest while giving herself over almost entirely to George's arms. "Hermione, sweetheart. Are you all right?"

"Terrified us, you did," George said, his voice just over her ear. He drew her in tight against himself even as Fred tried to do likewise. Hermione emphatically did not complain. "Merlin, 'Mione. When Harry went down, I thought you were—" His voice broke and Hermione felt a sharp ache in her chest.

"How'd he get through? We'd checked all over." Fred's voice was sharp with self-castigation.

"I'm fine," she reminded them. "Nothing broken. Got my wand back, too. And he came from underground. Probably not warded, there, right?"

Adults were all close, throwing questions at Potter. She didn't listen to them. She only heard her heart pound and she could only feel the hearts that beat against her, firmly, but slowing down as they all calmed themselves.

Professor Snape's voice did eventually reach her. "Miss Granger, I must insist you emerge from your cocoon."

Fred ignored him. "Ivanova. We'll be there."

"But only if you promise," George began.

"That there'll be no obstacle courses."

"Or rats."

"Or boggarts, either. Merlin, I hate those things."

Stasia laughed, the sound low and pleasant. "Of course. I will write to Hermione with final details. See you later."

"Miss. Granger."

Reluctantly, Hermione squirmed out of four strong arms and two hard bodies that made up the cocoon her Head of House mentioned. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

He shook his head sharply. "We have questions. Your presence is required in the Headmaster's office."

She reached out a hand to take Fred's and George's. They squeezed her fingers with love and reassurance. "All right," she said. "Will you be there, Professor?"

"Of course. You're in my House."

"We'll see you as soon as you're done," Fred told her, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. It suddenly occurred to her that she was a mess, so she appreciated his affectionate display all the more.

"We'll be waiting. Love you," George whispered.

"Love you, too. Both of you."

Snape held out an arm to usher her away from her boyfriends and the crowds parted before them. Potter was ahead of them, already on his way with Ron Weasley at his side. The other Champions were there, too, clustered together, obviously in deep conversation. Her fellow duelists, likewise.

"Does Dumbledore's office allow for so many of us?" she wondered out loud.

Her Head of House chuckled, surprising her. "It will."

And then, somewhere between the Quidditch Pitch and the castle, she started hearing her name.

"Good on ya, Granger!"

"Right proper shield, that was, Granger."

"Granger! Fine work, there!"

"You totally rescued the Boy-Who-Lived, Granger."

She thought she was hearing things and looked about, puzzled. "What are they going on about?" she asked Professor Snape in an undertone.

He smirked. "I do believe, Miss Granger, that they're congratulating the Pariah of Slytherin."

She laughed then, before she sighed. "I wonder if it will last?"

* * *

 **A/N** : _For the obstacle course idea in here (not the whole thing, but the aggressive inclusion of, well, aggressors, I acknowledge_ **What We're Fighting For** _by **James Spookie** here on FFn. Great idea they had for Harry's training that I thought might work, here, too. The story's in my Favorites, if you'd like to check it out.)_


	38. Chapter Thirty-Seven: What Happened Next

**A/N: Y'all blew me away with your responses to the previous chapter. Thank you! Hermione really has come into her own, hasn't she?**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Seven: What Happened After**

 ** _Hogwarts, 5 June 1995_**

The final flying carriage had disappeared into the cloudy sky, and if there were some melancholy faces amongst her schoolmates, Hermione honestly could not have cared less. She, Fred, and George were with the Durmstrang scholars that had become her friends over this school year. The boys were talking to Stasia whilst she spoke to the rest.

She shook Viktor's hand, letting hers stay in his for a few moments. "Thank you for your friendship," she said quietly. "You cannot know what it's meant to me."

He clasped her hand in both of his before she could slide hers away. "Thank you, too, Hehrmyoni. You are a rare voman."

"And you are a brilliant man! And a good friend."

It was something she knew was rare, the sincere friendship of a member of the opposite sex. Once they had discovered that there was no chemistry between them, they had grown stronger as friends and that had been welcome. "You vill write."

"I will."

The rest of her friends came to bid her farewell, too, air-kissing near her cheeks or over her hands as custom dictated in their native countries. She spoke in French if necessary, or bade her farewells in their native languages if she knew the words. She would definitely be writing to them over the summer, to maintain contacts that could be valuable as she ventured out into the world.

At last, Stasia came to her, and the twins flanked Hermione as they usually did. "We were finalizing your visit with my family," the Russian girl said. "I look forward to introducing you to my fathers and mother. I am sorry they did not get to meet you at the Third Task."

"As am I. I look forward to meeting them. I will send you an owl from France."

"Can't believe she's going to those French beaches _again_ ," Fred said with an exaggerated tone of irritation.

George sighed and nuzzled her hair. "At least she promised pictures."

With a laugh, Stasia shook their hands and kissed Hermione's cheek. "Until August, then."

"Have a good trip home, Stasia. Please send my—our—best to your parents."

Viktor had been waiting for his schoolmate and the two of them waved once more before entering the imposing ship that had spent so many months in the Black Lake. As it began to sail and submerge itself, Hermione sighed a little and leaned up against her boyfriends.

"It's going to be lonely on the end of the Slytherin table," she said after a moment. Behind them, everyone was turning away, possibly endeavoring to remember how life was at Hogwarts without so many colorful guests.

Each of them wrapped one arm around her and steered her gently toward the castle doors. "Might not be so bad, now, you know."

"And if it is," Fred said, "you can join us."

"And we can join you!"

She halted, turning in their arms and kissing each of them with quick, passionate appreciation. "Thank you. Might take you up on that."

As they reached the Entrance Hall, they heard someone loudly clear their throat. "Hey, George. Fred."

"Harry!"

"The Triwizard Champion himself!" Fred made as if to bow, but he was still intertwined with Hermione so that didn't work very well.

Hermione chuckled. "Potter. You're looking well. Everything all right?"

"Er, yeah. That. Look, Granger, can I talk to you for a second?"

Surprise prickled her skin. "I suppose?" She waited.

Potter looked to the twins and met each of their gazes. "Alone?"

George made a show of wrapping her up entirely in his arms as Fred said, "Remember, she's taken!"

Potter rolled his eyes and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I don't believe anyone in England or on the Continent will forget, lads."

They laughed and her boyfriends each kissed a cheek before heading indoors. "We've got a thing to do in our room, but we'll see you at dinner!"

Leaning against the wall, Hermione waited, as she had learnt to do, whilst Potter fidgeted about. He paced a couple of strides, stopped, stared at her, and paced again. She watched him, knowing he was uncomfortable but unable to think of a thing that she had done to make him so.

At length, she decided she had to say something or he'd pace until dinner. "So, what happened with Pettigrew?"

Potter stopped, eyebrows high under his messy black fringe. "They've got him in a special holding room at the Ministry. There's an inhibition against him transforming there, or something" He blew out a breath. "And, he confessed to lying about my godfather back in 1981, so that means Sirius is going to be reinstated and all that."

Hermione nodded; his family matters were not her concern, not really. "What about with him trying to abduct you? Pettigrew, I mean?"

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. She watched while he did it again before he finally said, "Look. Basically, you saved my life, that day."

"Third Task?"

"Yeah." He looked about and drew nearer to her until he was leaning on the wall as well, scant inches from her.

She tossed up a quick _Muffliato_. It had become one of her favorite spells. "There. Now no one will be able to discern what we're talking about. Only that we're talking."

"Where did you learn . . . ?"

"Professor Snape. So?"

"Right. So. Voldemort—you know, everyone calls him You Know Who or something—was trying to resurrect himself."

She cringed. "Ew."

"Yeah. And he had, had _bits_ of his _soul_ he'd split off and stored. In items. Like a ring or locket, you know?"

"That's just . . . frightening."

"It is, and you can't tell anyone, Granger. Except maybe the twins." He rolled his eyes.

"Sure. So what happened with Pettigrew?"

"Well, see, over the past several months, since Lupin came in as professor, right?" She nodded and he continued. "Dumbledore and some others started looking for these, these _things_ where the soul pieces were. And they found and destroyed them."

"That's good, right? That means he can't come back, Voldemort?"

Potter threw his head back against the wall and winced. "That's the theory, but. Turns out there was one more piece of his soul, Granger. One they didn't know how to get to and they didn't—didn't tell me about it. But Pettigrew knew where it was and he was determined to get it to bring back his Dark Lord."

She frowned, thinking and putting pieces together. It was her best talent. "Pettigrew thought you had the final piece?"

"Bloody hell, this is hard to say." Potter dragged both hands through his hair. "But I have to. You have to understand, Granger." He turned to catch her gaze with his own and moved his fringe out of the way to expose the famous scar on his forehead. The equally famous green eyes were practically burning. "I have the final piece right here. The soul piece, if left in a living thing, can only be released if that thing is killed. So, Pettigrew was going to take me and kill me. He'd been planning it for, for a long time. He was the one who told Voldemort where my parents were, he's why they were, they were murdered."

Despite her usual inclinations, Hermione reached out for the younger boy and took one of his hands in hers. His fingers were like ice. She cast a warming charm about his hands and he snorted out a chuckle.

"Thanks. But really, I _need_ to thank you. If you hadn't been there, hadn't been so fast, he could have got me. He was ready and he had a path and everything. I'd be dead and Voldemort would be alive and everything would have gone to hell. Perhaps literally."

She paused, for gratitude was a heavy burden and, as such, it was something that, in Slytherin, was handled carefully. She wanted to ask how they were going to get the soul piece out of Potter, if anyone else would be trying to abduct him, and why the bloody hell no one had taken care of it before then, but she didn't. Potter looked relieved enough just to have said that much and she wasn't friends with him or anything to share a bigger conversation. "I'm glad to have been there," she said after a few moments.

"Well, so am I. Look. I won, right? Big cup and all that."

She smiled. "Yeah. Rumor has it that it glows and everything."

"Hell of a nightlight, yeah?" He appeared far more relaxed and even smiled naturally. "Not too many of us that know what a _nightlight_ is, you know?"

"Muggle-born."

"Muggle-raised."

Abruptly, he pushed himself from the wall and got a bag out of his robes. "Here." He whispered, " _Engorgio_ ," to it and the bag grew considerably until he held it with both hands.

"That was wandless," she observed.

"I know." He winked. "So. I won a thousand Galleons. I want you to have it." He tossed the bag to her so that her reflexes gave her no choice but to catch it.

It was _heavy_. "No. I can't. I did one thing and I'm glad it helped, really, but I can't take your prize money."

"Granger. _Hermione_." His smile was pained. "I've got money. It's waiting in a vault in Gringotts 'til I come of age, I've been told. I don't need a prize. I don't want it. I didn't want to be in that thrice-damned Tournament anyway. You know this." She nodded. "So take it. I hear you go to France every summer. Go, go _shopping_ or whatever it is you girls like to do."

She laughed. "Or I could buy books."

"Well, yeah. I guess you could give them a thrill at Flourish and Blotts. They might even make you a partner if you invest all that."

The idea lit in her mind like the twins' fireworks and she grinned, all thoughts of making Potter take it back fleeing. "Thank you, Potter. _Harry_."

"Just don't tell anyone, all right?"

"My lips are sealed."

* * *

"Well, will you look at that?" George grinned as he stared across the Great Hall. He and Fred had planned on joining their girlfriend for dinner that evening, custom be damned, but he stopped in his stride.

"That's—that's—"

"A surprise."

"Good, though, yeah?"

"Yeah. How about we let her enjoy it? Catch her later?"

Fred nodded and clapped his twin on the shoulder. "Serves us right, running late. Oh, look. Roast beef and Yorkshire Pudding!"

They served themselves, but all the while, they were watching the new seating arrangement across the Hall. For years, they'd seen the proud green and silver ties gathered up in the middle and one end of the table whilst a lone little girl—and then young woman—sat alone, surrounded by books or parchments. Meal after meal, day after day. It had become expected.

Then, foreigners came and joined her, giving her companions and, eventually, friends. Fred and George had their moments of jealousy, certainly, but those moments had abated after New Year's Eve. They'd just been happy for their girlfriend. She needed friends.

And now, when they'd thought she'd be all alone again, she _wasn't_ , and that was a sight that made George's heart swell in pride. "She showed them, didn't she?" he whispered to Fred.

Fred was looking utterly besotted. "She really did. Brought down an entire House, our girl."

First years, seventh years, sixth years, and a few of the others, too, had joined Hermione on her end of the Slytherin table. The food had followed after a few minutes, as if Hogwarts herself couldn't quite believe what was happening.

Through the various heads and colors and across the tables, Hermione's gaze caught theirs and they grinned at her, feeling their pendants warm against their skin. She touched one ear and smiled back with obvious happiness.

"Go, Hermione," Fred said with relish.

George hefted his pumpkin juice to her in a silent salute. "I knew they'd appreciate her one day," he told his brother.

"You start reading my tea leaves and I'll toss you in the lake."

After dinner, they came to her and were all set to congratulate (or commiserate) regarding her new, non-outcast status when she stopped them with an unusual look that neither of them could interpret. Why did she have her school bag with her?

"Come on. I need to talk to you."

Well, that wasn't good, George reflected, feeling a bit cold all over suddenly. They followed her out of the Great Hall and up a set of stairs that moved twice over before settling. She stared at them the whole time, still with that oddly complicated light in her eyes.

Fred ignored the movements of the staircase and held out a hand to her. "Sweetheart."

She took it and kissed it and that eased the pressure in George's heart considerably. "Did the, did your Housemates say anything to, to upset you?"

Her eyes grew wide and the complications in them melted away. "No! It was so odd, George. They just converged, you know? So many of them, talking with me as if they hadn't spent nearly five years making my life miserable." She cocked her head as the stairs ground to a halt. "I do hope they don't get in the way of my revising during breakfast tomorrow."

The laugh surprised George even as it poured from him. Then, Hermione took his hand and Fred's and tugged them along, through a set of leaded glass doors, and onto a slim balcony. The breezes played with her hair and George caught at the wild curls, loving the texture of them, loving all the pretty colors that made up a golden brown. "So, what is keeping that brilliant brain of yours busy, love?"

She leaned against the rail and studied them again before catching at both their hands, which she'd had to release to open the glass doors. "I have something for you. But I don't want you to get upset with me about it."

Fred frowned and played with her fingers. "Why would we get upset?"

"Is this about us?" It was a hard question but George felt he had to ask it, even if his heart was stuck in his throat and his jaw felt tense with invisible strain.

She nodded and Fred drew nearer to George, though they still clung to Hermione's hands. Fred looked out past her into the darkening sky beyond Hogwarts. "What is it?"

"I was talking with Potter, and he told me . . . things. And he thanked me for saving him at the Third Task. And . . . he gave me his prize money."

"He what?" George and Fred blurted that out simultaneously.

"I mean, that's fantastic, of course," Fred amended immediately.

"Surprising, but really grand," George added.

"It was, yeah. But see, I don't want to go shopping or whatever like he said."

Fred squeezed her hand that he still held. "Not even for books?"

"No. I actually want to give it to you. To invest in your business. And in Portable Magic." She disentangled her fingers from theirs and reached into her school bag. "Here."

She held out her hands and let a heavy, black silk bag roll from her fingertips.

George and Fred gaped, catching the bag and staring at it. Then at her. Then at one another. "Hermione."

"So, it's all right?"

"Cor! Blimey!"

"More than. We can, we can open our business!"

"We can get inventory. And, and material to make more!"

"We can talk to the bank. Get a shop!"

Fred hardly dared to open the bag, but he eventually did so, turning subconsciously away from the open air to return to the safety within the actual walls of the castle. "I've never seen so many Galleons."

"We better get it split up. Not all the eggs in one basket, and the like, yeah?"

"We'll need to—"

All at once, they looked around and saw they were inside and it was dark and they were still talking and, to their deep embarrassment, they saw that their girlfriend was still outside on the balcony, though she had turned around to gaze at the night sky.

They turned and ran back to her, pulling her roughly inside before pressing her against the wall next to the open glass doors. "Hermione," Fred said against her throat.

George felt completely in awe of her and his touch was light under her robes, still and always above the waist. "You're the most amazing girl ever."

"Dream come true, and not because of the money."

They kissed her, deeply and fervently, forgetting even the weight of a thousand Galleons in a black silk bag.

* * *

 ** _23 June 1995_**

"No, I don't care about my hair this morning, Ilana," Hermione snapped as she pulled on her sturdy Mary Janes. "I just want to finish these exams. I'm going mental. I swear, the boys will never speak to me again."

Shana laughed and tossed Hermione a fresh school robe, its collar a shiny emerald green. "Doubtful, Hermione. They've been through their O.W.L.s and know how it can be. They've got that _look_ about them as well, you know."

"What _look_?" Hermione studied herself in the mirror, saw ink just under her ear, and tried to clean it off with a harsh _Scourgify_ that stung the sensitive skin.

"That look that says they're counting the minutes until they can get you back into bed," Ilana Shafiq stated with a languid lift of her brow.

Hermione felt the blush clear to her toes. "I'm, I'm underaged. We've not, er, reached that point."

"Then they are _totally_ counting the days. Can't be too many, yeah?"

"Stop it! I have to concentrate!"

They were still laughing at her as she left the dorm.

A little more than a week later, she stared at herself in the mirror once again. She had showered but still looked as if she'd been run over by a lorry. Or a herd of hippogriffs. Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology—all these she'd taken after her boyfriends had helped her revise and prepare for them. She felt strong in those classes. Ancient Runes had been a challenge, but she'd felt good about that O.W.L. as well. She'd taken Potions, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Arithmancy that week. If she passed them all, and she hoped to, she'd have ten O.W.L.s to her credit and one early N.E.W.T.

" _I'm sorry, Professor," she'd told her Head of House in their Career meeting weeks before. "I just can't take Divination seriously."_

 _"I understand. It's hard for the Muggle-born to do so."_

 _"I do want to take the History Magic N.E.W.T., though," she had reminded him. With an exaggerated sigh, he signed off for her to do so, muttering something about her being an overzealous know-it-all._

 _Still, she'd seen his lips quirk with the hint of a smile before she turned away._

Her ears burned and she smiled at her reflection and caressed her charmed earrings. "Okay, so I might look ruddy awful, but they love me anyway. And I'm the only fifth year who's taken a N.E.W.T. this year!"

She blew out a breath and nodded to herself in great satisfaction. It had been a good year.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** To answer a note I am seeing from different reviewers and in PMs: Sirius and Hermione are not involved in each other's lives in this AU. Sirius is Harry's godfather and, aside from an offscreen expression of gratitude that might occur - or he might send flowers? - their paths don't cross. I have nothing against Sirius in this AU. He just doesn't share space with Hermione at any point. _


	39. Chapter Thirty-Eight: Looking Ahead

_**A/N:** I don't even have new words to thank you for your support of this AU. I so appreciate being able to interact with those who leave me notes, too! A special bow to **Crossy70** who caught review #1600. Really, y'all are amazing. Thank you._

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Eight: Looking Ahead**

 ** _Hogwarts Express, 24 June 1995_**

Fred—ignoring the tension that gripped his chest—stretched out on the bench in the compartment he, George, and Hermione had claimed for the trip back to London. He watched his twin and their girlfriend look over a calendar, making notes about her trip to France and when she'd send them pictures, the twins' business schedule with shop-hunting and so on, as well as the trip up to Russia, to meet the married and mature triad.

It was something neither he nor George had ever seen, so he was looking forward to meeting the three parents of Stasia Ivanova. He'd seen Bill at the Third Task and told him of the upcoming visit and their eldest brother thought it was a great idea.

Their mum? Not so much.

 _"What do you mean, you're going to Russia? What business could you possibly have there? That girl is Miss Granger's friend, and she won't appreciate you interfering in their visit."_

 _"We've been invited, Mum," Fred had said, trying to be calm. "Never been to Russia, you know. Might meet business contacts."_

 _George nodded with enthusiasm. "Or play Russian Rules Quidditch. You never know!"_

 _They had not mentioned the real reason for their visit, because their mother was none too pleased about their triad. She couldn't prevent it, she'd said, but her displeasure was plain. "Business. Well, just you remember what was in the paper."_

 _"Mum. Hermione's our girlfriend," George said with a direct look. "We trust her."_

 _"So let her go to Russia without you!"_

 _Fred sighed. "We want to be with her. And we're adults now, so there's really nothing else to say."_

 _The subsequent silence had been close to deafening_.

"I am going to try to send Boudicca to you from France, to see if she can handle the trip on her own," Hermione was saying, pointing to a map and measuring the distances between her expected vacation villa and the Burrow. "If that doesn't happen, though, I'll see if I can find an owl over there who can do it."

Boudicca made an impatient sound in her cage and George carefully slid a finger through the bars to soothe the feisty owl. "Now, now. She's just concerned about overtaxing you, girl. We know you'll do your best."

Fred couldn't wait any longer. He slid down to join the pair on the floor, with all their papers and schedules and plans. He wrapped an arm around George's shoulders and his brother looked at him.

It had always been natural for them to communicate without coming out and saying things, but only when it was stuff they'd already talked about. It was as if he and Georgie could remember just what their expressions were or something for different conversations and come back to those conversations with just a look. Hermione mapped things in her head with key words, she'd told them once when they'd teased her about her amazing memory. Maybe he and his twin had a special kind of memory, too.

It seemed as if they did, anyway.

"Hey, 'Mione," George said after a moment, taking their girlfriend's quill from her and tugging her so that she sat in their laps on the floor, her bum in George's lap and her legs overflowing Fred's own. He sighed happily as they held her. She wore her Muggle jeans and trainers along with a tight green t-shirt, once she'd taken off her school robes, and she looked amazing. He loved the feel of her body on top of his, any way he could get it. Even fully clothed on the floor of a compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

"What is it?" Hermione wondered, leaning against George's arm and catching at one of Fred's hands. "You look so serious."

"Well, here's the thing. We have our O.W.L. scores and all, and you'll be getting yours, yeah?" She nodded, biting her lip as her brow furrowed adorably. When George bent to kiss it, Fred completely understood. "And you know we're looking for a shop."

"Right." Then, her lips quirked and that tiny dimple he'd not seen in weeks appeared. "And . . . you're trying to think of a way to tell me that if you find a shop, you're not coming back to school next year, right?"

George almost dropped her, but instead pulled her tightly against his chest while staring at Fred, who didn't know what to say for a minute.

Hermione suffered under no such hesitation. "Guys." She squirmed out of their laps and moved to sit cross-legged in front of them, taking their hands in her own so naturally, with such a proud smile, that Fred wondered what the bloody hell he'd been so worried about. "Haven't I always been in favor of you opening your own shop?"

"Well, yeah," Fred allowed, nodding.

"And haven't I even invested in it? In you? In your amazing minds and imaginations?"

George reached for a curling lock of her hair and twined it about his finger. "You're the best, 'Mione. No mistake. And," he went on to say, "a considerably scary girl."

"I'll miss you, you know, if you have to—if you get to open up a shop."

The brothers spoke simultaneously. "We'll miss you as well." And they chuckled with her.

"But," she said after a moment where they'd played with her fingers and pressed light kisses to her hair, "I'll know you're thinking of me because Gideon and Fabian will let me know. And Boudicca will gets tons of exercise flying back and forth, at least if it's not stormy."

"And you've no O.W.L. exams next year, so we can see you during holidays?"

Her smile was fierce. "Try to keep me away, boys."

"What about your parents?" George asked after a moment.

She sighed. "Well. Yeah. But I am growing up. And if, and if there's no other way, maybe I could come stay near wherever your shop is, you know?"

"You could come to the Burrow," Fred ventured to say.

She shook her head sharply and sat up with a stiff back, her hands sliding out of theirs. "Your mum doesn't like me, Fred. I can't be a guest in her house when it's like that."

George tugged her back to sit on top of them again. "We'll figure something out."

"Sure you'll be all right?"

She sighed before maneuvering herself to kiss them each along the jaw. Fred felt himself get all aroused under her and she felt it too, he knew by the way she sort of melted into him. "I will because, even though I'll miss you, I'll know you'll be fulfilling your dreams, right? It's what you want."

"Absolutely," they said together.

She nodded and met both their looks with her own very sincere one. "And someday, when it's my turn to fulfill my dreams, you'll support me, too."

That fell heavily into a silence in their compartment. To Fred, it was as if she'd asked something very special and rare of them. To George, it felt almost as if she were proposing . . . something.

For both of them, though, there was only one answer. "Of course."

* * *

 ** _Owl Post_**

 ** _1 July 1995_**

Dearest Gred and Forge (What, you knew I heard that, right?),

I'm here in our rental house for the next few weeks. We just arrived. We're right on the water, practically, on the French shore of the Mediterranean. It's rather far from you. I feel it, anyway. Can you feel the pendants when I think of you?

The villa has a lovely balcony and a jacuzzi. It's not an exclusive address, but it's comfortable and affordable for a longish stay.

Mum and I have plans for some serious sunbathing on our private balcony.

Has your mum settled down, yet? I feel just dreadful, as if I've got you into trouble or something because of the investment business. How about your dad? Is he supportive? I hope so. Your ideas are so splendid! I hope things have calmed down for you.

I've got my school reading here to do. Are you planning on doing any summer reading, just in case? If so, I'll share my Defense book with you. We'd be together, next year, prepping for exams, if you come back to school.

I only say this to remind you that, if you cannot find a shop this summer, life shouldn't be altogether horrid at school.

I'd best sign off. Not sure if Boudicca will be able to make it to you. If not, I'll add an additional note when I can find the nearest magical owl posting station.

Much love to you both,

Hermione

* * *

 ** _7 July 1995_**

Our Dear Sweetheart, 'Mione,

As always, we share. So this little message will likely just be bits and pieces, as we've nothing to report. - F

Not true. - G - Mum was mad as blazes and I'm telling you, 'Mione, that even if we can't find a shop, I want to find a place of our own, now that we're of age. Bill said that he'd let us stay with him at his London flat. We're thinking about it. If we move, we'll send you an owl.

We've been doing a lot of product development, here. I found an interesting spell during some of our research last year for the TWT that gave us some ideas. If they work, we'll send you a sample. Not as impressive as runic armor, but we think you'll like it. - F.

So, when do we get pictures? And are there tan lines?

Oh! To answer your question, sometimes we feel the pendants, sometimes we don't. How about the wildcats? We figured that, shocking as it is, there might be times you actually aren't concentrating on us and we drown our sorrows in Butterbeer and think of amazing ways to get your attention. - G

Lots of love,

Fred & George

Hopeful Proprietors

Pranks & Portable Magic

* * *

 ** _21 July 1995_**

To My Hopeful Proprietors~

I've tried to enclose two pictures for you of our space, here. The first one is of Mum and me on the balcony in the jacuzzi. Dad thought we looked cute. We were celebrating their wedding anniversary, so yes, I was drinking champagne. Please don't be alarmed, we only had a couple of sips and then I left them to their celebrating whilst I went to bed.

The second picture is just me. Obviously. I think my mum suspects I have a boyfriend and is trying to embarrass me with the whole topless sunbathing thing. As if she'd actually take a picture of me on my back in such a state! No. But yes. So, now you know. No tan lines.

How goes the shop hunt? Are you going to move out with your brother? And what is this fantastic new invention you've gone on about in your last two letters?

I have finished all my homework. I miss dueling. Do you suppose I could take a Mastery in Dueling or Defense? We haven't had a decent professor for either, though rumor has it that Flitwick is a champion duelist.

I miss you. It is not normal for someone of my House to admit to having a weakness, but I have two. Their names are Fred and George and I miss them awfully. If you see them, please tell them they have my most ardent admiration and respect. And I hope to see them soon.

Ardent, remember…

Your

Hermione

* * *

 ** _3_** **_August 1995_**

Dear Hermione,

We're having to make this short, because we've got to move. Yes. We found a shop. And it's got a flat with it, so we've also got a home, if you can believe that.

We hope you're home, too. The pictures you sent were, frankly, memorable and amazing (and incendiary! - F) but knowing you're close is better. Because we'll be in the Alley, you see, which means you're hardly any distance at all from our new digs.

We'll still be coming on the visit next week, don't worry. Can't wait to go on vacation with our girl. Do you think it'll be warm enough where we're going to warrant you wearing that pretty little red number? (bring it anyway - G.)

Miss you. We know things are weird at home, but you're brilliant so we know you can come up with a perfect reason for us to see you or vice versa. Can't believe how empty our arms are without you in them.

Yes, we're saps. Don't tell anyone.

Love,

Your Proprietors

P.S. Our pendants are burning - what ARE you thinking?

* * *

 ** _Veliky Novgorod, Russia, 12 August 1995_**

"You're here!" Fred and George performed a quick, soot-cleansing spell as Hermione and Dorotea Alexandrovna emerged from the Floo in the Oblonsky household in Russia.

Hermione had done some research and had passed said research on to the twins, just in case. Though Stasia was Stasia Ivanova, and she called herself such, that meant she was Stasia, Ivan's daughter. But her family name, as Hermione had learned only in recent weeks, was Oblonsky. So really, she was Stasia Ivanovna Oblonskaya. Her mother was Dorotea, Alexander's daughter, married to Ivan and Konstantin Oblonsky. Stasia had the look of her mother, with the chestnut brown hair and moss-green eyes.

Hermione tried to catch her breath, hardly daring to believe she was so far from Crawley. "I'm here, yes. Thank you so much for cleaning me off." She laughed into first one firm shoulder, then the other, breathing them in as if they were oxygen. It had been ages since she'd seen them. "I've missed you." Their arms went solidly around her, and she wrapped one of hers around George in front of her and the other up and around Fred's neck behind her. "Too long. Let's not do that again."

Stasia laughed out loud. "Truly, when they said they hadn't seen you in a long time, I thought it was a few days."

"No. It's been since school got out in June. I've been in France." Hermione unwound herself from her boyfriends and tried ineffectually to smooth down her hair whilst she took in the room. They were in a small parlor with a large Floo. There were high windows along one wall, letting in a brilliant golden sunset. The furniture was of richly colored wood with smooth upholstery. She was standing on a stone floor.

"Is this a castle?" she heard herself ask. Then she blushed. "Sorry. That just came out."

Laughter rang to the dark beams overhead and she turned to see the twins who had made up the majority of the triad. One of them smiled. "Hello! We had heard you were intelligent."

Stasia, dressed in an elegant set of aubergine robes, made a smooth gesture with one arm. "Papa, Father, this is Hermione Granger, who is one of the champion duelists of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in England."

Though her head was still spinning, Hermione gathered her mind enough to offer a small curtsey, as she felt that too much respect was better than too little.

Stasia's fathers, she could see, were identical twins, though they no longer looked so identical. They appeared to be in their forties, perhaps, were blond, blue-eyed, and exceedingly tall. One was heavier than the other, and they wore very different clothing. One was in formal wizarding robes of a charcoal hue, the other in more casual trousers and shirt—also of a dark gray color.

"Hermione, these are my fathers, Ivan," the heavier of the two took her hand and bowed over it, "and Konstantin." The other one did likewise. "You have already met my mother."

"Indeed," Hermione said, trying to smile, look friendly and grateful for her hosts, and let her boyfriends know that she had missed them and was happy to see them. "It was so kind of you, Mrs. Oblonskaya, to come meet my parents. I know it's a long way, but they feel more comfortable."

"Believe me," the Russian woman said with barely any trace of an accent, "I understand. I have a daughter as well. I was only sorry we could not stay for tea. The International Portkey Board can be difficult." She smiled and held out her hand to her husbands, who moved as one to stand beside her.

Hermione instinctively took her wizards' hands in hers and the two triads faced one another with smiles on their faces. "Breathe, sweetheart," George whispered over her head as the room fell into one of those stillnesses that sometimes happen.

So, of course, everyone got a laugh out of that. She didn't mind. She felt as if the reminder to breathe was not uncalled for, for she couldn't even think of what to say.

Ivan Oblonsky, though, acted as if he met teenaged triads every day. He held his wife in one arm and said, "It is a pleasure to meet another triad. We know you're young, but I think you'll find that this is a comfortable relationship to grow into, for three people."

"But first," Mrs. Oblonskaya said with a gracious smile, "you could likely use some time to settle in, no? So, Stasia will take you to your rooms and we will meet for tea in, say, half an hour."

Fred, perhaps taking his cue from his host, smiled. "Thank you. That sounds brilliant. And, yes, it is a pleasure to meet another triad. The only other one we have any connection to involved our uncles, George's and mine, and they were killed in the last war."

"Both of them?" Mrs. Oblonskaya whispered, her previous smile wiped from her face.

Hermione nodded along with her boyfriends. George spoke softly, saying, "Our mother still doesn't like to mention them."

"What of their partner?" Konstantin asked, a furrow between his brows.

Hermione shrugged, for she had no idea. Fred sighed. "Our brother William is the only one of us who remembers her. He didn't know what happened, but believes she was killed in the war as well."

Dorotea made a distressed sound. "We are so sorry. That is a great loss for a family."

"We look forward to sharing what we might, to help you better understand the possibilities, since your uncles can no longer do so," Ivan stated formally.

"But first, you need to rest. Stasia, _kotyonok_ , if you would, please?"

After more smiles and polite words, Hermione confessed inwardly that she was relieved to be with just her boyfriends and Stasia.

"Pyotr! Katya!"

Two house-elves, dressed in what looked to be crested togas, appeared with a crack, saying something in rapid Russian. Stasia replied in kind, and the house-elves gathered the luggage that Hermione had brought, as well as Fred's and George's, before nodding at Stasia and disappearing. Her parents bid them a brief goodbye.

Hermione felt George and Fred relax and she did as well. "It is good to see you, Stasia."

"And you, my friend. I am happy to have you here. Come, let us get you to your rooms. Pyotr will see that you get to tea on time soon."

She led the way from the parlor through what appeared to be a large manor house. There was no single style of architecture that Hermione could identify, but then, she wasn't familiar with Russian styles. She saw many motionless paintings, two that moved, and several door frames in what appeared to be walnut wood.

Their rooms, hers and the twins', were on the second floor. "Your rooms connect," Stasia informed them, entering first and gesturing to a double door on the left. The room they were in was occupied by two double beds, a large wardrobe, two chairs, and there was a door to an en suite bath. The colors were light browns accented by strong wine combinations.

"Blimey, this is huge," Fred whispered. The sound, though, carried, and Stasia smiled her thanks.

"Now, Hermione, your room connects so that you and your partners can visit without having to emerge in front of anyone else during your stay with us." She led the way to a room that had serene navy blues accented with light tan. The rooms complimented each other but didn't match, and Hermione actually liked that more than she would have expected.

Stasia pulled her aside to a window that overlooked an above-ground swimming pool. "We did not discuss if you and the boys would want a single room. My parents felt that two rooms were best, as you were all students, still."

Hermione fought her blush, as she knew she was horribly unsophisticated. "Thank you. It's perfect. Both the rooms. Thank you so much."

"Your bath is not en suite, I am sorry. But it is across the hall, there." She smiled mischievously. "Or, you may share with your men!"

Startled into laughter, Hermione shook her head.

"I will leave you, then, and send Pyotr to you soon."

"Thank you so much."

"You are most welcome here." The door closed behind her with firm purpose and Fred and George dashed into her room a second after.

"Hermione!"

With the exuberance that was so characteristic of her boyfriends, they embraced her. inhaling deeply of her as she was of them. She had to taste them, feel them, and had no compunction in turning within their embrace to rub first one chest, then the other, over the thin fabric of their summery, button-down shirts. They weren't wearing ties. Or robes. "You feel so good," she murmured into Fred's chest.

He laughed against her. "So do you." And they proceeded to show her how good for the next several minutes.

At length they sighed and, finding themselves somehow on Hermione's queen-sized bed, had a good laugh. "So, we're here to take triad lessons?" George asked with a grin, propping himself on an elbow to meet Hermione's eye.

She cupped his jaw in her hand. "Do you think we need them?"

Fred moved to sit up, cross-legged, in the middle of her bed. "Hermione," he said without a trace of laughter in his voice or look. "You know we love you. We want this, with you. A home. A daughter, even."

"Maybe even twins!" George quipped, tugging on a curl of her hair.

Her heart was pounding, thudding away with nerves and awe and a cautious, cautious joy. "You want . . . this."

"Might have to spell it out for her," George told his brother.

"Hermione Jean Granger. We know it's early and we're young and all that, but we want to be yours."

"Husbands," George added, "in case he didn't make that clear."

"Can't promise a manor in the country," Fred added with a rueful tilt of his head.

"Don't need one," she whispered, feeling tears of wonder burning in her eyes. "Just want you. To be yours."

As one, the twins sighed and nestled in to her, their arms twining about her as closely as they possibly could. "So, we'll make it a promise, shall we?" Fred murmured into the wild mess of her hair.

She swallowed. "I promise."

"Me, too," Fred assured her with a nod.

"So do I," George concluded.

Her tears fell from the corners of her eyes to roll down her temples and into her hair. Fred and George kissed them away, which led to a great deal of intense snogging and whispers of love, of happiness, and of their great anticipation for Hermione to reach her majority.

"We need to ask your parents, do the thing up proper, yeah?" Fred murmured against her hair.

She grimaced. "That could be a problem."

"Wouldn't do to just go off and get married and start popping out sprogs, now, would it?" George asked teasingly.

Hermione just laughed, feeling rather overwhelmed but vastly happy. "Children! We haven't even had sex."

Her wizards laughed and held her close between them. "Yet! We haven't had sex _yet_."

She knew they would, though. Eventually.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Technically, this is **the end** of this story - a story engineered to facilitate a romance between Slytherin!Hermione and the Twins while showing how one determined girl can overcome prejudice and excel, despite much being against her. I had a grand time discovering this Hermione. _

_But wait! There is an **epilogue**! So, you want to know: When **do** they have sex? What happens to Harry? When does Hermione marry the twins? Do her parents go spare when they find out? Will Molly  ever like Hermione? Will Severus Snape ever be happy?_ _And the biggie: What About The KIDS?_

 _I've got all that happening. Once more into the breach, my friends…on Friday._


	40. Epilogue

_**A/N:** Behold a blissed-out fanficker. Your responses to the last chapter were awesome. I want to welcome all the new reviewers who chimed in as well! And, of course, a deep curtsy to **Siriusmunchkin** for catching review #1700._

 _ **Remember** : This has been an AU. There will be no Umbridge in Harry's fifth year, as Voldemort didn't regain his body, so Harry had nothing to inform the world about. The horcruxes were being handled, as Harry told Hermione, so that's a worry gone, too._

 _Take a deep breath, now. We left our triad in August of 1995, before Hermione's sixth year, but I'm not returning there._

* * *

 **Epilogue: Life in Fast-Forward**

 **-0- -0- -0-**

 ** _Gringotts, Diagon Alley, 1 August 1996_**

"Wear these," Fred told Professor Snape, handing him a cloak and hat.

The Potions Master eyed the black items disdainfully before meeting Granger's eyes. "Miss Granger. What is this?"

"Protection, sir. It's part of the Portable Magic line. But it will provide you with an extra level of shielding from the, the anchor, without you having to focus upon it, leaving you free to concentrate on removing the, the thing." Her expression twisted in revulsion, but she kept her voice as even as Harry expected was possible.

For himself, Harry Potter was sitting on a bespelled stone said to be connected to the ley lines of the very earth. He was to take a potion, try to relax in a shielded environment while Snape got the _thing_ out of his head, and watch as Professor Dumbledore caught it in a special item that would be a horcrux if it were to be allowed to exist any longer. But it wouldn't. The Headmaster was going to destroy it down here, so all the pieces of Voldemort would be gone.

Forever. After living with this for so many years, it was almost mind-boggling to consider.

George gripped his shoulder reassuringly. "Sorry we haven't got any special Portable Magic gear for Horcrux Removal, Harry."

His twin offered an identical rueful smile. "Best we can do is shield you with our girl."

"Why are you even here, again?" Harry asked with a sarcastic slant to his words.

Fred clapped him gently on one shin. "One, you asked for the two most brilliant ward-breakers you knew in case something happened."

"Bill will be here, too. I know he was your first choice," George said with a dramatic sigh as he began examining the runic protections set into the floor. "But he said we'd be good for back-up. We're devious. And the Goblins are warding the rest of Gringotts."

"Potter, you'll be fine. Relax." Granger flicked her wand to allow Bill Weasley into the room and Harry did relax at that. He trusted Granger, which was why he'd asked for her specifically to be here. He trusted that she would stand between him and anything odd that happened. Besides, she had designed the Portable Magic ward-wear that they were all using, so it seemed right for her to be there.

And there was no way under the sun that Fred and George would let her do this without them.

"Easy for you to say," Harry retorted as he took the potion from a cloaked Snape. "You're not the one with him in your head."

"No, but you know my shields are pretty good."

"Unless I use a _Bombarda Maxima_!"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Of course. Maybe the Headmaster can Silence you?"

Dumbledore sighed and waved his wand over the gem in his hand. "Enough. Severus, are you ready? Harry, lie down."

The room went fuzzy, but Harry was vaguely aware of the twins chanting with Granger as they kept up some visible shields about him. His focus narrowed to Snape's inscrutable black gaze and then—

—"Holy shite! No! No! Stop!"

Worse than any Unforgivable, pain spiked through his brain and down his spine. He tried to shake his head, to dislodge it, but he couldn't move. He screamed until he was hoarse and then he knew no more.

He awoke to a pair of tolerant, cinnamon brown eyes. "There you are. Good. All done, Potter. He's gone." She smiled gently at him, an expression Harry didn't ever think he'd seen on her face before. He tried to answer, but no words came.

Fred—or was it George?—appeared just behind her. "Snape and Dumbledore passed out. We've got 'em over there. Want something to drink?"

"From you?" he managed to croak. "Can I trust it?"

Granger actually laughed out loud. "Open up, then, Potter. My wand only produces the finest _Aguamenti_."

He accepted her offer, but as soon as he'd done so, his focus shifted entirely to the pile of ash in the warded circle. A pile of ash that used to be a homunculus that was Tom Riddle. A pile of ash that was harmless, now that all the horcruxes had been destroyed. It was over.

It would be weeks before he realized that it was over for real. Over forever.

* * *

 ** _Hogwarts, 1 September 1996_**

Severus Snape eyed Headmaster Black's portrait with something of a smug expression. "You know," the Potions Master said, "you'd owe me fifty Galleons if you were actually alive." He liked to win bets as much as the next man, his withdrawn demeanor notwithstanding. And, since the actual and final end of the Dark Lord, he had smiled more often as he had done so.

Phineas Nigellus Black eyed the Head of Slytherin and turned out the pockets on his painted robe. "So, they didn't kill her. I am the one who got Albus to let her in early, you know."

"Yes, so you could watch a Muggle-born fail amongst our House," Severus protested, annoyed and angry but unable to feel those emotions too strongly, as he was also quite pleased. Lily would have been so proud of him, he thought. She would have loved Miss Granger.

Albus sat back in his chair and stroked his beard. "Yes, well, I have decided to take future advanced students on a case by case basis. Miss Granger's success will not be universal."

"I think she's done well," Severus remarked. "She's Head Girl even though she's not yet able to Apparate."

Albus eyed him carefully through his spectacles. "Well, I have taken a risk with that. Haven't made anyone Head Girl—or Boy—without their having served as Prefect. Not since James Potter."

Severus sneered. "I daresay Miss Granger is up to the task. And since her _partners_ aren't around to distract her, she will be brilliant. Besides, you had to do something, you know."

"I know. Though it certainly was not the outcome I had planned." Albus popped a sweet into his mouth and sucked on it thoughtfully whilst cradling Fawkes in his hands. His familiar had had a Burning only the day before and was still small and vulnerable.

"Well, after Pettigrew led us to Voldemort's . . . incarnation . . . and we were able to deal with . . . it, you had to do something. Everyone at the Tournament knew Miss Granger had kept Potter from being kidnapped."

"Yes, well. That wasn't the only reason, you know. We chose her as Head Girl because she had shown herself brave and determined as well as already having those N.E.W.T.s under her belt before today." He slanted a glance up at Headmaster Black's portrait. "Muggle-borns, Phineas. They're stronger than you thought they would be."

"Hm."

* * *

 ** _Hogsmeade, 5 October 1996_**

Hermione Granger, Head Girl and Champion Duelist, was actually trembling. "It's beautiful," she said, trying hard not to cry. After all, they were in public at The Three Broomsticks, and Madam Rosmerta had saved them a table near the front so Hermione could easily be seen and accessed by the younger students on their first trip to Hogsmeade. Her now-official-fiancés had someone minding the shop so they'd be able to be here with her today of all days.

George, on her right, nuzzled her hair, his warm body soothing her, even through his dress robes. Yes, dress robes. She had known something was in the works when he and Fred had met her at the gates of Hogwarts dressed in their finest. Fred cupped her left hand in his, and she was still staring at it.

The Ring.

"Had to be beautiful," Fred told her. "It was for you."

"And you're beautiful."

"I, I feel beautiful," she whispered, tearing her eyes from the sapphire and diamond ring on her left hand so that she could meet warm, loving brown gazes that never moved from her face.

They both smiled broadly and whispered, "Finally."

The word was a code word between them, referring to the time when they would be able to consummate their relationship. She had wanted to do so when she'd turned sixteen, but they had demurred.

 _It had happened—or not happened—over the winter holiday last year, at the very end of 1995, and they'd met at their shop: Portable Magic. It had been after close of business and they were all three up in the twins' flat and . . . "We know you're of age," Fred had said in all seriousness._

 _"And we'd like us all to see another birthday," George added with a kiss._

 _"So, we'd rather not tell your parents about us and be instantly killed dead by some Muggle thing if they ask if we've been shagging their daughter." Fred did have a way of putting things._

 _"You said we shouldn't say anything until you were of age to_ not _have to abide by your parents if they wanted to take you away from us," George reminded her. "I'd also like them to like us, though, you know?"_

 _Fred lifted her chin on his finger. "And they'd probably like us a lot_ more _if they knew we'd waited. Hard enough to find out their only child is with two blokes, yeah?"_

 _"Yeah," she'd answered. "I love you, you know that."_

 _"We know."_

 _They were right, but she felt like she wanted to tease them anyway, because she could and because having two fit men melting under her hands was a real turn-on. She had pushed them back on the floor where they'd been sitting in front of the fire in their flat. "So one day, we'll finally get to go below the waist?"_

 _"Well," they'd both said, moaning as she teased them with fingertips tracing the waistbands of their trousers, "we could finally do that tonight, yeah."_

 _And they had, with the flames of the fire flickering over them. Her hands had trembled then as well, as she'd uncovered and been uncovered and felt callused fingers traverse the bare skin of her thighs._

So in The Three Broomsticks that Hogsmeade afternoon, they all blushed at the whispered, "Finally." Someday, that time would come.

* * *

 ** _Crawley, 20 December 1996_**

"I knew it!" Emma Granger crowed, her smile all over her face. "I knew one of them was your boyfriend, let me see the ring! Congratulations!" The dentist's laughing brown gaze danced from one twin to the other, as if to ask which one she should embrace as her future son-in-law.

Fred and George swallowed, their hands on Hermione's shoulders. They'd been engaged, officially, for a couple of months, but this event had been one they'd been dreading for _years_.

Hermione was shaking. And that told them more than anything how hard this was for her. Their girl wasn't afraid of anything in their world, they were convinced. But gaining her parents' approval had her unnerved.

She showed the ring to her mum and asked, "Where's Dad?"

"Oh, he'll be right down. So?" The silent question was a repeat of the earlier voiced one.

Hermione slid her hand from her mother's and clasped George's _and_ Fred's hands in her own. "Well, Mum. They're wizards. And they're magical. And they're identical twins. Identical, Mum. All the way from their genes to their magical signatures."

Emma Granger took a step back, her laughter gone as she surveyed the three of them. "And?"

"And so, in our world," Hermione answered, putting the emphasis on _our_ , "it is considered perfectly acceptable for identical twins to both marry the same person. Whether it's twin girls or twin boys. So, they will both be marrying me. And I'll be marrying both of them."

Fred couldn't stand how proud he was and his grin overspread his face once their girl had stopped shaking. She was now the duelist, her back straight, her gaze direct.

Merlin, he was hot for her all of a sudden.

" _All_ three of you?"

"Yes, Dr. Granger," George said, nodding. "We know it's not the normal thing in your world, but it is in ours."

"All _three_ of you?"

Fred took his turn. "Yes, ma'am. We love her. Have for years. We have our own business, you know, and it's doing well and we've promised to support her in whatever it is she wants to do."

"I'm going for a Mastery, Mum, in Defense. I'll be working on that after graduation."

"All _three of you_?"

Hermione broke away from Fred and George and crossed to her mother, wrapping her arms around the older woman. "All three of us. And someday, you'll have red-headed grandchildren who can fly on brooms. They'll make you laugh so much, Mum."

"Did I hear the word _grandchildren_?" Dr. Daniel Granger loomed in the doorway and Fred and George nearly soiled themselves to see his thunderous expression.

Hermione stood in front of them, though, undaunted. "No, Dad! Merlin! I'm a virgin!"

It actually turned out rather well, as Hermione's dad had been so angry about the possibility of her being pregnant at seventeen that her being merely engaged to two fine, upstanding members of the magical business community had been a lesser evil, as it were.

"Just how is that supposed to work?" Hermione's mum had asked, her voice in a hiss as the two ladies went to the kitchen to make dinner.

Their girl tossed a smile at them over her shoulder. "Well, there's a book I could show you. They got it for me to help me understand it as well."

To their surprise, Missus Doctor Granger had stopped, her eyes wide. "Is it illustrated?"

Fred and George didn't even try to hold back their laughter as the blushing women disappeared into the kitchen to make dinner.

"But Merlin," George confided to his twin whilst wiping the mirth from his eyes, "I thought her dad was going to kill us dead with his bare hands."

"We're wizards, George. We could have stopped him."

His twin laughed, embarrassed. "I think he even scared the _magic_ out of me."

* * *

 ** _93 Diagon Alley, 5 January 1997_**

Hermione stretched in the rather large bed in the blue and gray bedroom over the shop, aching in the best way in every limb. The past couple of days had been . . . amazing. After plowing through the engagement awkwardness and assuring her parents—repeatedly, individually, and together—Hermione and her wizards had spent the holidays between Crawley and Devon, but New Year's Eve itself had been spent with the Grangers.

 _The twins had slept in a guest room in which they'd transfigured one bed into two. And they had given her a chaste kiss goodnight. In front of her parents, which had been all kinds of embarrassing. And when Hermione had had to answer Nature in the middle of that night, her father had been perched on the top step of the stairs, watching her door._

 _"Dad!" she'd whispered._

 _"Just making sure we aren't going to be grandparents," her father retorted._

 _"Honestly. Three virgins cannot get pregnant."_

 _Blunt, but effective, because after hearing that, Dad swallowed his tongue and went to bed._

 _After seeing George and Fred off the next day, she'd visited with her mum and smoothed everything over._

 _And the following morning? She'd gone to join her men at work._

 _"Fred? I think it's time," George said after they'd closed the shop that evening._

 _And, indeed, it had been. "Finally," Hermione had breathed, relishing the feel of her fiancés' bodies as they consummated a relationship that had begun, really, several years before._

So for the past few days, Hermione recollected with a lazy smile, they'd worked in the shop during the day and played in the twins' flat during the night. Fred and George had been very concerned with being able to present a "We haven't shagged your daughter" honesty to her parents. Having done so, it was finally time. . .

"Morning, 'Mione," George murmured just then, smoothing one hand up over her naked abdomen to cup a breast. He hummed contentedly against her skin and she wanted to melt.

"Morning, George," she whispered. "Sleep well?"

"The sleep of the fantastically satisfied," he confessed, his lips curving into a smile she could feel. "You?"

"Well, once I was allowed, ahem, to _sleep_ . . ."

"Says the insatiable minx." Fred levered one eye open from her other side as he settled his knee on her thigh, trapping it so he could do wicked things with his fingers. "Oh, Georgie, I think she's having insatiable thoughts again." She tightened as he entered her slowly with one finger, then two.

"Before breakfast?" George asked in feigned surprise. "I'm hungry. Mm, that looks tasty," he remarked as if eyeing a bakery case. Then, he took a long lick and suckle of her breast and Hermione could not push down her moan.

Fred shifted down so he was also making a meal of her at the apex of her thighs and, between both her wizards, Hermione found herself climaxing sharp and sweet in a matter of minutes. She had no idea how they chose who slid up her body next, but she was happy to spread her legs wide for George as he thrust into her whilst she was still coming down from her peak.

"So. Good. 'Mione."

She loved the way he sounded, his voice husky and desperate as he thrust into her with all the energy of a man not quite twenty. She focused on him entirely, scratching lightly at his arms as he drew her hips off the mattress so he could take his pleasure in her. The fierce joy in his eyes, the strength of his arms, the power of his body all made her shiver and throb deep within herself. He came with an incoherent cry before sighing happily and releasing her to the tender attentions of his brother.

Who lost not a heartbeat in rolling her over on top of him whilst George recovered himself. "You've got to get on the train this morning, yeah?" Fred drew her down for a kiss and she could still taste her own pleasure on his tongue.

"Mm-hmm. Head Girl. I need to be early." She winked at George before rolling her body up again on Fred. "What do _you_ need?"

He gripped her hips with strong fingers. "Merlin, sweetheart. I just need this. More of this. Don't want to have to send you back."

It had been an idyll, of sorts, being with them all the time. Working hard, thinking, trying out a new product or two, grabbing hot chestnuts from Fortescue's—something he was trying out for the winter afternoons to draw in customers.

"You said," she reminded Fred with a roll of her hips that made him groan, "that you were going to send me those new daydream charms." He hissed as his length parted her lower lips so that she slid up and down without actual penetration.

"Yeah. So hot, you talking shop right now," he said, obviously trying to jest while his body clearly wanted more.

George chuckled. "That's our girl. Doing more than one thing, every moment of the day."

"Should be doing more than one wizard," Fred teased.

The image tore through Hermione, almost making her come just thinking of it. Fred felt her response, though, and grinned, though his face was flushed and sweat beaded on his brow. "Like that, sweetheart?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Daydream charm, George. Our girl does best with two-on-one, yeah?"

"And you share, I remember," she said, rolling on Fred again.

He held her still and slid inside her entirely, his knowing fingers playing her body outside whilst he moved luxuriously beneath her. She tightened around him again, feeling her pleasure rolling like hot, sparkling waves that she tried to hold back . . . for just another moment . . . because the view and experience were far too good to rush through.

"Ohhh, Merrrrlinnn," Fred ground out, his voice guttural and tense as he came, hot and hard within her body. He didn't forget about her, though, bringing her waves to shore with a crash that had her nearly shrieking in excess.

George, a grin on his face, lightly stroked himself as he watched Hermione's "dismount". "Sure you have to go back this morning?"

She stretched again. "Yeah. I get first dibs on the shower."

When the Head Girl arrived at Platform 9 3/4 that morning, Harry Potter, the male Gryffindor Prefect for his year, met her with a far-too-knowing look. "Good holiday, Granger?"

"The best."

* * *

 ** _Bulgaria, 11 July 1997_**

"Lovely to meet all of you as well," Hermione said in nearly accent-free Bulgarian. She curtsied to the Bulgarian Minister of Magic and shook hands with the new Headmaster of Durmstrang and the lead wizard of their Wizarding Council. "I've heard so much about you."

Viktor and Marko had remained good friends and, over the years since the Triwizard Tournament, had made her well-acquainted with the educational and political policies of their country. She wanted to enlarge her own understanding of the Wizarding World as well as seek practical applications for Portable Magic for the shop.

She offered the Bulgarians her business card: _Hermione Granger, Partner, Portable Magic, Diagon Alley, London_. The logo the twins had chosen for the shop rose in greeting the first time a magical person touched the card: twin lions with a snake twined in the infinity symbol around their necks. "I'm doing research for my masteries, though, rather than focusing entirely on the business, just now."

Viktor grinned at his fellow countrymen. "She's always been what they call an over-achiever. But she is capable. This, I know."

"Which mastery are you working toward right now?" the Headmaster asked with saccharine politeness.

"History of Magic. I passed my N.E.W.T. in it already, but I'm wanting, you see, to write a new textbook. I'm also hoping I'll be able, once it's done and published, to rewrite the texts for Muggle Studies. Really, they're horrid. One needs _Wizarding_ Studies for the Muggle-born such as myself, but I know these things take time."

Viktor laughed as the entire Bulgarian delegation picked their jaws up from the floor and beckoned her to join them for a very informative tea.

* * *

 ** _Crawley, 17 January 1998_**

"So, what you need to do is trust me on this one, Mum." Hermione presented the knickers to her mother with a hopeful smile.

Mum blushed and darted a quick, embarrassed glance at George, who was monitoring this for their shop. Fred was actually at the shop, that afternoon, whilst Hermione and George popped off to her parents' house. "Trust you with a pair of knickers?"

"I want you to wear them under your tights when we go skating, Mum."

Emma Granger shook her head, laughing ruefully. "Pumpkin, you know I can't skate."

George grinned. "That's rather the point, Doctor Granger."

"Pardon me?" Her mother's expression cooled. Hermione knew her parents were working on accepting that she was part of a triad and that she was now living with her fiancés. Mum loved that her daughter was loved, but she was having difficulty accepting the unconventionality of it all. "Not skating is the point? Are you planning on having me fall down and hurt myself?"

"Merlin, no, Mum!" Hermione interjected, hands outstretched. "Fall, yes. Get hurt, no. These will keep you from doing that. What you have to do, when you feel like you're falling, is to say, ' _Capto_.'"

Hermione watched her mother process this until a light seemed to ignite in her eyes. "Magic? I'll be able to do magic?"

"Yes!" George and Hermione said in unison.

"We're thinking of calling it Save the Bums," George added, his enthusiasm lighting his clear brown gaze and adding energy to his voice. "A way for people to use magic without having it. It's Hermione's idea, really."

"Been working on it for years, Mum. But we haven't tried it with any, er, non-magical people, yet. So you'd be our trial subject."

Mum breathed heavily and examined the knickers in a minute fashion that made even Hermione a bit uncomfortable. "Magic…"

Still, Mum wore the knickers and—after a couple of mistimed falls—proved that even Muggles could use Portable Magic.

* * *

 ** _Diagon Alley,15 August 1999_**

"I don't like it," Molly hissed in her husband's ear. "Muggles in the Alley."

Arthur wrapped his arm around his wife. "C'mon, Mollywobbles, don't be that way. They're learning about us and their children are magicals, like ours. The Statute is not threatened by this, and this way, families have a greater appreciation for our society."

"But they're . . ." Molly snapped her lips shut when her sons' fiancée approached with that patented Slytherin smile on her face. Merlin, she hated that.

"Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley. So glad you're here! We're trying out the newest Portable Magic line, see, there? Mr. Weasley, with your position in the Ministry, perhaps you'd have a different perspective on things."

Molly made herself smile and take Hermione Granger's offered hand. That it was her left hand, complete with the sparkling diamond and sapphire ring, was not to be wondered at; Hermione Granger would always be a Slytherin, and Molly suspected that the young witch's every move was calculated.

She was a dreadful influence on her sons, too.

"Mum! Dad!" Fred half-jogged to greet them at the bottom of the stairs that led to an upper floor with _more_ products that were noisy and undignified. "Did you see the frame with the award?" He pointed to an elaborate gilded frame that was established under a light. A broad parchment declared that Mr. Frederick Weasley and Mr. George Weasley had each been awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class, for having been instrumental in the defeat of the greatest Dark Lord of their generation, etc. "Hermione's is in her office. She said she didn't need it on display, here."

Arthur, daft man, shook his head. "Now, I'd have to disagree with you there, son. You're doing good, here, with the Muggles and Muggle-born. Having her award displayed with yours would only promote your agenda, I think."

Hermione blushed. "Er, you have a point there, Mr. Weasley. I'll have to reconsider."

Molly did her best to redirect her sons away from Miss Granger. "So, have you been meeting with the Ministry?"

Eventually, she was able to suss out that their sons were putting together what they called a "portable performance portfolio". Hermione Granger kissed both Fred and George on their cheeks—at work!—and made her excuses. She had a tutoring session for _another_ Mastery.

What was she trying to prove, anyway?

Molly was determined to get the last word. "Oh, I am sorry, Hermione. We really do need to schedule a time to work with your mother on the wedding plans." This topic was always guaranteed to make the girl turn pale.

It worked again and Molly silently congratulated herself. "You know," the young woman said with a snake-like smile, "I think I'd be most comfortable letting George and Fred state their preferences first. I want this to be suitable for them in this world, rather than my own, because here is where we'll be living." She glanced at her ring. "I just want to choose my own dress and flowers."

"Aw, thanks for throwing us at the hippogriff, 'Mione," George said, his eyes dancing with laughter.

"Only because I love you," she replied before bidding them all a general goodbye and Apparating away.

"Well, now, that's refreshing, isn't it, Molly?" Arthur asked, clearly trying to keep the peace.

Molly had no choice, in the light of her son's expectant half-glares, but to agree.

* * *

 ** _The Burrow, 22 December 2000_**

"And you are now pronounced husbands and wife. Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you Hermione Granger Weasley and her husbands, Frederick Gideon Weasley and George Fabian Weasley!"

"Too right!" Charlie called before Apparating to the rear of the guests and lighting off pre-arranged fireworks. Hermione grinned as swirling fire buzzed overhead and into the night sky.

"Now, we can kiss our bride," George proclaimed over her head to Fred. And they did so, in alphabetical order, right in front of their wedding guests.

The marquis on the Weasley's property was magically heated so that even on a winter evening, all the guests were comfortable and warm. Molly Weasley went about, accepting congratulations for "gaining a daughter" and occasionally making small-talk with Hermione's parents, but she avoided her new daughter-in-law as if Hermione herself had Dragon Pox.

"She still hates me," Hermione muttered during the reception. "My brand-new mother-in-law wishes I were under a dragon or something."

She was dancing with her eldest brother-in-law, after having taken a turn about with her new father-in-law (with whom she had developed a good relationship), and Bill had asked about her lingering anxiety. So she told him.

And he smiled into her eyes. His were a startling blue, like their father's. He was built along very different lines than her new husbands, too, which made dancing with him something to adjust to, that evening. "Don't worry about Mum, 'Mione. She'll come 'round. From what the twins say, you got the entire House of Salazar eating out of your hand before you finished school. Mum can't be worse than that."

She laughed a little. "You're right. Okay. But I _don't_ think she'll be impressed by how fast I can throw out nonverbal hexes."

"You might be surprised! Defending against the Dark Arts is a good skill for a mother, you know."

"Bill!" She blushed, embarrassed. "We're not pregnant."

His eyes twinkled. "Yet!"

Professor Snape surprised Hermione by claiming her next. "Mrs. Weasley," he murmured, his tone distant as he swept her into a classic foxtrot.

"Professor," she replied, surprised. "I was so glad to see that you'd accepted our invitation." She smiled up into his eyes. "Glad and surprised," she added.

Quirking one brow, he almost smiled. "Well. I thought it would be amusing to astonish a houseful of Gryffindors."

"They are rather brash, aren't they?"

"Indeed."

She chuckled and relaxed as he led her expertly about the small dancing square. George and Fred caught her eye with astonished looks in their own. "Still, they have their merits," she admitted to her partner.

He followed her gaze to acknowledge her husbands. "They do."

Before the music changed, Hermione shifted topics. "I meant to ask if you were going to take up the position you had mentioned at Beauxbatons."

Her former professor actually grew pink in his pale cheeks. "It is a distinct possibility. The society there is quite . . . agreeable."

She laughed. "Indeed?"

* * *

 _ **Argyll Highlands, Scotland, Later that evening. . .**_

Her heart was pounding in the darkening room. "So," she whispered into Fred's chest. His heart was racing under her lips and his fingers were trembling at her waist. Trembling like the candle's flame.

"So," he echoed into her hair.

Behind her, George traced light, callused patterns down her spine, having divested her of her wedding dress moments ago. "So?" he whispered.

She swallowed. "I, I'm nervous, you know?"

George pressed himself up against her; she could feel the hard, hot length of him rubbing her bare skin. "Me, too."

Fred laughed quietly. "Haven't done this all together before, have we? But," he went on, moving provocatively against Hermione's smooth body, "we have done our research. Come, sweetheart. King-sized bed and everything, yeah?"

She remembered the time they'd found themselves on the bed at Stasia's house, years before, and how it had barely been enough to hold them during a late night snog. This, here in a magical hotel on Scotland's west coast, was so much better. She followed Fred to the mattress, feeling much more secure once George was with them.

Fred captured her lips with his, and she closed her eyes, doing her best to lose herself in his taste and the feel of him under her hands. He collapsed back on the bed, bringing her with him, and she felt her own heat rising to meet his. They'd had sex . . . a lot, over the past few years, since after they'd announced their engagement to her parents. But it had always been one of them at a time, for her. Dual penetration was something they'd decided to save for their wedding night.

And she was unaccountably nervous about it. "What if I can't, er…" she murmured from her position, splayed atop Fred.

He gripped her bum with both large hands and held her still whilst he thrust lightly against her. Oh, that was good. She felt her body respond with relief. He winked at her, not having had to answer at all. Then George's hands began to move and she lifted herself up a bit to let his fingertips brush the sides of her breasts.

Soon, she was rocking on Fred's erection, feeling him part and then enter her with confident familiarity. "All right, love?" he whispered, his eyes piercing in the gloaming.

"Perfect."

George chuckled from behind her and she felt his fingers brush her bum. Dry at first, he then whispered something himself and his fingers were coated in a warm lubricant of some sort that he massaged into her, preparing her for his own entrance.

"Take a breath and let it out, 'Mione," he advised, beginning to press into her. "There you go . . . Merlin," he groaned as he pushed past the extreme tightness of her opening.

Hermione stiffened but Fred brushed her intimately with his fingers, making her shiver and relax, somehow. She clenched her inner walls around him and his eyes rolled back in his head before he chuckled. "That's our girl. Multitasking. C'mon Georgie . . ."

"Please, George," Hermione begged, now eager to feel him in his entirety. To have both of them. It had been a fantasy for years, but now, finally, to have it happen and to know, well, that it was _working_ , had her lightheaded. She could feel it, deep inside herself, as the tide of her desire rolled in. Her skin tightened, her fingers clenched into the bedding, and there was such a _need_ in her body. A need that was, at last, being _fully_ satisfied.

"Your wish is my command, Mrs. Weasley," George said, his voice thick as he gripped her hips and eased himself in to the hilt. "Gods. This. Merlin. Hermione."

She wasn't precisely sure what to do, but her men did, alternating their movements as if they'd rehearsed. "Oh, ohhhh…" she moaned, meeting each thrust, balancing her weight on her knees and arms whilst Fred and George rocked into and out of her, making their own inarticulate sounds.

So focused was she on visualizing it behind closed eyes, that her first climax snapped within her almost without her clear awareness. "Oh! Yes! Right. Right like that!"

Fred grinned and then tensed, "Care for afters?" he rasped.

"I do!" George said between panting breaths.

And then, as they did so many things, they brought her off together before shouting out in tandem, her name pouring from their throats with breathy devotion.

"That was brilliant," she managed to say as George bent to kiss her spine.

"That was magic," her husbands countered.

* * *

 ** _Hogwarts, 15 October 2005_**

It was George's turn to work with her at Hogwarts this weekend. The students had a choice: They could go to Hogsmeade or they could stay at the castle for an extracurricular dueling class, open to all years.

So, the group of students in front of him and Hermione was comprised largely of younger kids, but there were some older ones as well, eager to learn from the Master Duelist partially credited with having done away with Dark Lord Voldemort years ago.

"So, did you really hex Old Voldie?" one second year asked, his voice high and bright.

Hermione shook her head. "No, as you'd know if you'd read the most recent edition of _Hogwarts, A History_. Honestly, people. Do your homework. Now. Let's begin. Wands out!"

"Shields up, Mrs. Weasley," George reminded her with an eye to her middle. She was three months pregnant and though he had no doubt in his mind that she would be safe teaching students some dueling basics—she had promised not to offer herself as an opponent to anyone—stray spells did happen.

"Thank you, dear," she responded with a roll of her eyes. "Assume the appropriate combat position," she directed the students. "Today, you're going to practice keeping your shields up whilst casting at your opponent."

"That's hard, Mrs. Weasley," a fourth year who had skipped Hogsmeade remarked.

"That's why you're here."

* * *

 ** _Salem, Massachusetts, USA, 2010_**

"So, you see, when you wear the cloak, the hat, and the specially spelled dragonhide boots, you're pretty much provided with an all-over body shield that is as strong as a good _Protego_."

Fred stood before the American Wizarding Congress, encased in what seemed to be normal wizarding robes. "I'll pocket my wand," he said, "though my brother, here, will keep his out, just in case." He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, garnering a laugh. "Go ahead, hex me."

Two chosen members of the AWC did so, one casting a _Stupefy_ , the other a _Petrificus Totalus_.

They gawped when Fred laughed at them. Kindly, but even so. "See?"

"I have _got_ to try those," declared the Chief Wizard of the AWC.

So, Fred and George showed them how to cancel the Runic Wards on the robes and how to activate them again.

It was a profitable journey.

"The kids still at the Magic Kingdom?" George asked as they returned to their Muggle hotel room in Orlando, Florida, contracts in hand.

"Hermione's with them. Seems that Grandma and Grandpa Granger are having a lot of fun with the grandkids."

"Wonder if they'll babysit, tonight?"

Twin grins lit up the room. It was hard for parents to have private time when there were three sprogs messing about. Especially if two of them had been born on April Fool's Day, just like their dads.

* * *

 ** _King's Cross Station, 1 September 2017_**

"Cor! It's Beatrice! Oi! Cousin Bea!"

Beatrice Weasley, her tousled red curls running riot around her eleven-year-old head, beamed to see her cousins at King's Cross Station that foggy September morning. "Mum! It's Castiel!"

"Wands out," Fred whispered in Hermione's ear, laughing.

George slid his arm around their wife's waist. "A Zabini. I still can't believe our little sister married that bloke."

"He's a _smart_ bloke," Hermione reminded him with a wink. "And she's kept him on his toes for years."

Zabini had been forced to reconsider his blood prejudices during his sixth year when a Muggle-born Slytherin became Head Girl, who just happened to be dating his own girlfriend's twin brothers.

They'd never be friends, but they were related and holidays had to be endured.

Percy and Penelope's children were older, and they strode past, patting the small fry on the heads as they went. Their eldest, Arthur—called Arts for some reason—was Head Boy this year. Hermione was certain that the young Ravenclaw would make sure _her_ eldest child was in good hands.

Two voices shouted from just behind them. "Mum! Look! It's Uncle Ron!"

"He plays for England now, Mum. Remember?"

Hermione sighed in an exaggerated manner. "I blame their Quidditch fever on you," she told her husbands. "You deal with them. I'm going to find Harry."

"Yes, dear," George said, kissing the top of her head before she slid away from them. Unlike the Oblonsky brothers, with whom they had kept in touch over the years, the Weasley Twins did their best to remain as identical as possible. It was good for their business image and, of course, it was a lot of fun for their wife. _Their_ twins were not identical, as it happened, so they had William and Charlotte dancing about trying to get to see their famous Uncle Ron. A perpetual bachelor, Ron played more fields than England and Fred and George had taken him aside on more than one occasion to make sure his spells were in order. Ron had fantastic instinct regarding Keeping, but that was about all.

Hermione left her men and her twins as she sought out Harry Potter. They hadn't been friends, quite, in school, but their shared experience for a few brief, terrifying moments had bound them in some weird way and during her remaining two years at Hogwarts, they'd rubbed along well enough. Fred and George had trusted him and had been happy that she'd had a not-quite-friend outside of Slytherin.

"Oi, Granger," Harry said, rubbing at the back of his neck as he watched another set of Hogwarts students board the Express. "Still aren't taking the job?"

She'd been offered a professorship in Ancient Runes, after having taken a third Mastery two years before. "No. The twins are still home, so I'll be based there for now. I've got to edit the new edition of _Art and Science of Portable Magic_ , you know. How've you been?"

His smile was melancholy. He always seemed a bit lonely, to her. "Pretty well, thanks."

"Still living with your godfather?"

His demeanor lightened, then. "Yeah. He and Remus just got back from touring Japan. Remus wanted to have some new things to show the kids in DADA."

"He was our best Defense professor, back in the day."

"Yeah, he was."

"So, spill," she said at last. "I've got two husbands. I know when a man is bothered."

He blushed and cast his gaze far over the train. "Still looking for the perfect partner, I guess," he finally confessed.

"Daphne couldn't take it?"

"Quidditch . . . it's great, don't get me wrong. I mean, Ron's aces at it, yeah?"

"That's what my children tell me, yes," Hermione answered with the notes of long-suffering in her voice.

Harry Potter grinned, his eyes glinting emerald in the morning's gray light. "They're good kids. But yeah. I guess I'm just looking for someone who won't be intimidated, you know?"

"It's hard, being the best."

"You would know." He snorted. "Besides, the partner I would have chosen . . . Well. It doesn't matter, does it? Simply not interested, that one."

It was a mystery, and Hermione loved to figure them out. "Tell me who, and I'll help," she offered impulsively.

His renewed blush was like fire. "No. It wouldn't be advisable. I'll let you know how it works out next year, yeah?"

"We've had this conversation before," she said.

"And we'll have it again."

"Same time."

"Next year."

* * *

 ** _France, 2020_**

"They'll be fine, 'Mione," George assured her, his voice lazy under the Mediterranean sun. He was rubbing a potion into her back that would keep her skin safe while allowing her to enjoy the topless sunbathing opportunities provided. That he was also hard and rocking against her bikini-clad bum contributed to his low tones.

Fred, who had had his turn covering her chest and belly with the potion, was focused more on the tantalizing swell of breast that had been pressed to the side as she lay on the lounge on their private balcony. "Just fine," he said smoothly. "Grandma Molly has lots of practice with twins."

"At least she likes _them_ ," Hermione murmured, shifting a bit and giving Fred more to ogle.

"Make sure to get her bum, too," Fred suggested, pointing at the curves of flesh that weren't covered by the tiny red bikini bottom. Two pregnancies and three children had only enhanced their wife's figure, as far as they were concerned.

"You do it," George countered, grinning.

Fred eyed his brother, seeing the crinkles next to the brown eyes just like his own. They were forty-two years old, yet their playfulness was never far from them. He lifted a brow and nodded at their wife. George shifted, saying something about making room for his big brother, and Hermione pried one eye open.

"I do not trust it when you lot are quiet."

"That's because you're a brilliant witch," Fred said, sliding potioned hands up and under the scrap of fabric on her bum. He massaged her firmly, so that she squirmed under his hands.

George had moved to sit near her head and was leaning over to further massage her, his fingers moving under her body so that he could feel the taut peaks of her breasts, which he brushed over and over again until she moaned.

"Up for it, love?" Fred asked.

"I've cast a Repelling charm as well as an Entrancing Enchantment," George murmured over her head.

"Mm, wordless and wandless?"

He laughed softly. "Of course."

"I love it wordless and wandless," she said, her voice low in her burgeoning arousal.

"We know it," Fred said, slipping his hand into her body at the apex of her thighs. "You're obviously loving this."

"Merlin, yes. Sure we're invisible? I've always wanted to do it on this balcony. Have for years."

Fred chuckled. "So have we, sweetheart. So . . ."

She Banished the last bit of swimsuit she was wearing, as well as her husbands', and felt the lounge broaden underneath her to accommodate them.

"Feels quite naughty, Mrs. Weasley, shagging out here in broad daylight," George said against her shoulder as they brought her up to her knees between them. He cast a quick lubrication spell on his fingers and went to work behind her.

"Must make sure our Runes Mistress is well and truly satisfied," Fred whispered on her other shoulder as he lined himself up at her entrance. They'd been having double-penetration sex since their wedding night, and it never failed to thrill him to look down and watch her, suspended between his body and George's, or to see her fly apart in their arms. He and George could move in tandem, pleasing their witch and being pleased by her as she nipped and squeezed and as they thrust and gripped until they were all gasping and crying out, reaching a simultaneous climax that left Fred staggered.

"When do we have to go back?" Hermione said on a purr as they sank down in a sun-drenched cluster on the lounge.

"Promised Mum we'd be home in five days."

"Bea wrote that the twins are driving her mad."

"Can't believe she hates Quidditch."

"We tried so hard."

They only said that to rile Hermione up, so when she huffed at them, they laughed. "Five days, love."

"Interested in going for an even number?" Hermione's question caught both of them by surprise.

George swallowed, sudden emotion overwhelming him as he comprehended her true meaning by the look in her eye. "Really? I don't know. 'Mione. Last time . . . "

"I never want to be that scared again. Ever," Fred stated firmly, his embrace tight as he remembered how close they had come to losing their wife when their infant twins had fought their own birth. Stubborn children.

Hermione did her best to stretch between them, shifting her body in ways _they_ knew _she_ knew were _dangerous_. "I don't like odd numbers."

Though they wanted more children—they didn't like odd numbers, either—the twins had already decided they didn't want to put Hermione in danger like that again. Still, if she was brave enough to think about it. . .

"We could practice, maybe," Fred allowed.

"A lot," George added.

* * *

 ** _Quidditch World Cup, August, 2021_**

His name was Daniel James Weasley. His godfather, Harry James Potter, held the baby while his Uncle Ron embraced Harry.

Hermione had never seen those two men—Quidditch coach and trainer, respectively—look so happy. No longer did Ron have to sow his oats all over Europe; he'd found his mate in his very best friend. No longer did Harry pine for someone he'd thought beyond him; he'd found his partner in his most trusted companion.

George and Fred held Hermione, one braiding her thick, golden-brown hair to get it off her neck and the other performing cleansing charms. "Thanks, guys," Fred said as the adrenal rush from the fast-paced birthing experience left him. Having Hermione go into sudden, hurried labor after England took the Cup had shocked them all. She still had weeks to go, according to the Healers.

Still breathing hard, George met Fred's eye. "What did they do? We did all the work."

Hermione blew out a loud breath. "I beg your pardon?"

"Sorry, love," the twins said together, each kissing a cheek. "So, Harry. Be nice to your godson."

"He's going to be a Seeker," Harry said.

"Born in the locker room and all," Ron added, laughing at his sister-in-law, who made a tired face at him.

"Shut it, you. Daniel's going to be a brilliant DADA professor and Head of Slytherin. Just you wait."

 **-0- -0- -0-**

 **The End**

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Thank you for joining me on this story I felt compelled to write. It's been a pleasure. _

_**Much gratitude** to _**_Katmom_** _for her support and for eyeballing the epilogue, as well as for just being a wonderful person. Thanks, too, to everyone who's shared this story with friends. I've got a bonus perspective chapter happening soon, so if you're interested, keep an eye open._

 _I need to finish my Irish Viking novel, but I'll be back._

 _~ LJ Summers_


	41. Outtake: Molly Sends the Howler

For **Jasper-replaces-edward** , who caught review #1000, I wanted to offer up a little something extra. I asked her to choose a part of the story she'd like to see from a point of view that wasn't given in the story proper. As I stuck primarily to Hermione, Fred, and George's brains during the story proper, choosing someone else was pretty easy.

She asked to peek in on Molly in the build-up to her sending the Howler to Hermione in Chapter Thirty-Two.

Here you go!

* * *

 ** _Hell Hath No Fury . . ._**

The kitchen table gleamed where the sunbeam hit the wood, making the whole kitchen feel warmer and more welcoming. Molly Weasley smiled in pride at the sight before bustling forward and rubbing the rounded corner with her apron. Just a bit.

"There. Perfect." Satisfaction thrummed through her to see the shining copper pots, the brewing cauldrons just there, the carving knives over there, the precise folds in the kitchen draperies, letting the sunshine in. "Just perfect." She nodded, smiling.

Her smile gradually faded, however, as she surveyed the room once again. Yes, it was perfect. And the earliest morning sun in Ottery St. Catchpole had indeed lit up her domain with rare, late-winter cheer. But it was still quite early. Quite, quite early, and the Burrow was now empty save for her. Leaving her with nothing to do.

 _Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap._

Curiosity provided interest, certainly, so Molly nodded with satisfaction as she opened the kitchen window for the _Prophet's_ delivery owl. "You're late," she told the bird as she paid it from Arthur's designated bowl in the cupboard. "Go on with you."

She closed the window and turned to lay the paper out on the warm kitchen table. The biggest headline caught her eye immediately.

* * *

 **KRUM RESCUES DARLING!**

 ** _A tale of the Triwizard Tournament_**

 ** _by_**

 ** _Rita Skeeter_**

It will come as no surprise to any of my readers that International Quidditch Champion Viktor Krum emerged with the top time for the Second Task in the vaunted Triwizard Tournament. Partially effecting a personal transformation into a marvelous predator, he essayed all the obstacles in the Black Lake at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to emerge with his prize.

They were giving prizes, you ask? Merlin, no. Each Champion of the Tournament was sent to the bottom of Black Lake, to evade dangerous Grindylows and negotiate with the Merfolk, to retrieve not a thing but a person. A person who means more to them than any other.

And who did the famous Bulgarian have as his treasure? A student at Hogwarts, reputed to be a remarkable duelist and scholar, who caught the Quidditch Seeker's quick eye. Her name is Hermione Granger and she's the first Muggle-born sorted into Slytherin in more than a century. Krum brought her to the Tournament's Yule Ball at Hogwarts and has been seen with her at almost every meal since then, my sources report.

She was also with him after he was injured during the First Task of the Tournament. Another source informed me that the Star Seeker asked her to be with him in the Healing Tent at the event.

Will the Triwizard Tournament have a new aspect to shed on this romance as the Third Task looms? I can assure you that we at the _Daily Prophet_ will keep you informed!

* * *

"That slut! That hussy! That, that _snake_! How dare she? Look at that, that man his hands all over her!" Molly gripped the paper in one hand, pointing at the moving picture with her other as she hissed at it. "And she's, she's all wet! Has she no shame? Merlin and Nimue! What was she thinking? Well, I'm sure I know. I'm sure she thinks that a rich and famous boy like that, that _Krum_ is a better catch than my sons, that's what I think. How dare she?"

She tossed the paper back to the table and inhaled sharply through her nose. "Well. If that Slytherin snake thinks she's going to be playing fast and loose with _my_ sons, she'll have another think coming!"

Nodding, she stormed out of the kitchen to her bedroom, where she kept the special parchment for just such occasions. Whipping out a quill, she returned then to the kitchen table and stared at the red Howler parchment with narrowed eyes. "Right, then."

 ** _Hermione Granger!_**

 ** _How dare you?_**

 ** _You were a guest in our home!_**

 ** _How dare you go behind my sons' backs to take up again with that Quidditch player?_**

 ** _How dare you? You, you snake!_**

 ** _You asked why I was suspicious? This is why! You can't be trusted!_**

 ** _I hope my sons have seen your true self and have moved on by now._**

 ** _You are not welcome in my home again!_**

She then imbued the receptive parchment with her own magic from her own wand, addressing it to _Hermione Granger, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_. Then, all she needed was an owl. "Well. I'll use one from the Ministry. Surely Arthur can help, since it's his sons who've been betrayed!"

* * *

 _ **A/N: About Molly**_ and her attitude toward Hermione... A couple of things.

In the epilogue, we don't see how Molly reacts to Ginny dating Blaise Zabini. Only that the pair were indeed married. As their children are about the age of the triad's children, one can imagine that Blaise and Ginny began their family at around the same time, though they'd married at least a couple of years later - well after we see Molly last in the epilogue.

Had she mellowed? Perhaps. But it's my observation that mothers-in-law are often harder on daughters-in-law than they are on sons-in-law, and many mothers-in-law are fiercely protective of their sons and are likely to be much more judgmental regarding their sons' wives. How much more, then, when two of her sons are married to one woman?

Take that as you wish. lol In any event, the scene above is all about Molly being very angry and protective - and a bit self-righteous, perhaps, even though she doesn't have many of the facts straight - about her sons. Mama-bear indeed.


	42. Outtake: Severus at the Sorting

_**A/N:** I don't always do requests. I found years ago that if my heart isn't in something - even for a tiny bit of fic - I don't write well and am unhappy with the results. But if a request strikes the right chord, I am all over it. Such is the case with the prompt from **KeepCalmLoveSeverus**. She requested to see Hermione's Sorting from Severus Snape's point of view. _

_Here you go!_

* * *

 _ **I Will Do Right by Her**_

Severus Snape, Potions Master and Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, let himself look as dreadfully bored as he felt whilst waiting for the new first years to join them in the Great Hall. There were no surprises, anymore. Not in his view.

That boy right there?

"Abyswythe, Justin!"

Muggle-born or half-blood. Severus watched the lad approach Minerva, his pale face studious and focused. He'd be sorted into Ravenclaw.

"Better be Ravenclaw!"

Severus privately awarded himself a Galleon for that.

A few children later, Severus found himself taking a long draught of his ale. The house-elves provided it on the sly for feast nights, so long as a professor didn't overindulge. As if he would. A sprightly pure-blood approached Minerva as if she owned the castle. He wasn't astonished when Cho Chang was sorted to Ravenclaw; her father had been there, too.

In fact, there wasn't a surprise in the bunch, he imagined. A yawn threatened, and Severus made up a little game with himself as to which of the myriad first years before him would get a detention on the first day of lessons.

"Granger, Hermione!"

 _Granger. Hm_. There was a Hector Dagworth-Granger who was responsible for founding the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Could Granger, Hermione be related to him? Maintaining a disinterested countenance, Severus was nevertheless watching avidly as a small girl with unruly brown hair climbed determinedly on the stool.

"Mudblood."

"Muggle-born."

The identifiers swirled on whispering curls of air as Minerva settled the Sorting Hat on Granger's head. Was the girl indeed a Muggle-born? She had an expressive face and seemed to be . . . carrying on a conversation with the Hat.

"Headmaster?" Josiah Selwyn called, clearly wishing to finish the annual ritual.

Angelina Johnson called out, "Hat stall?"

"Oi! Come on, already!" Some wit in Hufflepuff shouted.

The girl on the stool, though, seemed to ignore all that. She had the look of someone listening to annoying secrets. At last, though, the Hat finished.

"She belongs to Slytherin!"

"Cor! We lost three Galleons!" the wretched Weasley twins lamented.

Severus, though, wasn't lamenting at all. Instead, something within his chest lit up as the girl smirked at some private thought. A synapse fired in his brain. Here, at long last, was something new. A challenge.

A _Muggle-born_ had been sorted into his House. If only Lily—

He finished his ale and gathered his thoughts before Hermione Granger could reach the Slytherin table. The members of his House would destroy her. She'd need support.

 _I'll give her a week_ , he decided privately, watching as she sat at the end of the table, far from the nearest first year who'd joined them that evening. No one was welcoming her, as they would others. She was utterly alone, fingering her green and silver tie.

 _Yes. A week. To see what she's made of. Well, unless her life is threatened. I will step in then, of course. By then, I'll know how to approach her and what she will require to succeed in our House_.

 _A Muggle-born in my House. Lily, I swear I will do right by her_.


	43. Molly Finds Out - Blaise's Outtake

_**A/N:** For SlytherinJedi and anyone  else who wanted to see Molly's response to Hermione getting pregnant... _

* * *

**Slytherins Need Love, Too**

 **September, 2005**

"You sure you're all right?" Blaise asked his wife of two years. He smiled into her eyes, such a pretty brown, and cupped the back of her neck with his hand. The contrast of his dark skin next to her pale flesh always mesmerized him.

She smiled faintly and nodded toward the door. "Yeah, thanks, love. I'm fine. Just still not used to this whole baby thing."

Blaise Zabini grinned, pride welling up in him as it did every time he heard her say those words. "Well, neither am I, but I think somehow we'll manage. You still haven't told your family, right?"

"Right. You wanted to wait."

He bit his lip and knocked opened the Burrow's front door. Memories of his mother's many miscarriages skated through his brain. Had they truly been miscarriages or had his mother been deliberate in her lack of progeny? The memories had made him cautious, so he'd asked his sweet little Ginny (if he ever called her that to her face, she'd hex him into next week) to postpone announcing their new addition.

His astonishment upon her easy agreement had been extreme and she had been rewarded accordingly. She clearly remembered the night of that rewarding and her smile widened, her skin flushed pink under her freckles and he wanted to drop kisses on each ruddy dot.

"Ahem?"

He blinked, willed his sudden, perverse arousal to go away, and smiled up at Fred Weasley, who was holding the front door open with the air of a man ready to jinx him in a particularly embarrassing manner.

Fred, his _brother-in-law_ by Merlin's saggy arse, lifted one brow. Just like Snape used to do. Where the bloody hell did he learn that? "Coming or going?"

Ginny smiled and grabbed Blaise's hand. He squeezed it because her fingers were cold and that meant she was nervous. "Coming," Ginny stated clearly. "Out of my way, big brother."

Fred eyed her up and down as if searching for something. Really searching. At last, the elder of the Weasley Twins grinned broadly. "Moving, Mummy. Moving!"

Blaise lost his composure. "How'd you know?"

"How'd he know what, dear?" Molly, his mother-in-law, bustled around the door, her rosy cheeks as round and full as ever.

Blaise wasn't thinking of The Plan to Tell the Family just then; he was just working through his astonishment. "Ginny's pregnant!" he blurted, all his usual poise forgotten in the moment.

Molly seemed to incandesce and the scene dissolved into utter chaos. But the food was good and Blaise was just relieved when his brothers-in-law decided that the reward for pending progeny was bit of Firewhisky and a quiet kitchen.

Until Granger—or, rather, his sister-in-law, _Hermione_ —slipped into the chair across from his at the table. George—or was it Fred?—came with her, but he moved to the cupboards to ostensibly get himself a snack or something. Hermione, though, eyed Blaise carefully.

"What is it?" he finally asked, uncomfortable with her steady gaze.

She did the Snape-brow thing and leaned back in the chair. "Molly doesn't hate you."

He chuckled, nodding. "No. Apparently male Slytherins are much more the thing than females." With a calculated smile, he added, "Maybe it's because we're reproducing? How do you think the child of a snake and lion might look?" Near the sink, George stiffened, making Blaise briefly chill in fear. What was he thinking, to antagonize the best duelist anyone had seen come from Hogwarts in ages?

But then, Granger leaned forward again and, with a tiny gesture, invited him to do the same. "I imagine your child will look a bit like ours."

"What?!" His filter had been stripped from him that day, apparently, Blaise decided even as he shoved his chair back. The scraping of the furniture was louder than he might have wished. "Your what?"

George—at least he still thought it was George—moved behind his wife and dropped a kiss on her wild mass of curls. "We're pregnant, Zabini. Since you've managed to get my little sister up the duff, I'm sure you can understand that much, eh?" The ginger man laughed a little. "We just haven't told Mum, yet."

"We were going to, today, you know," Granger said with a sigh. "Suppose she'll tolerate me if I give her a grandchild?"

Blaise studied her, his astonishment receding. Oh, she had a dry smile on her face, and that confidence she'd possessed as long as he'd known her was clear in her straight back and the tilt of her chin. Even seated, she looked ready to send a wandless jinx at him. But there was also something tired and resigned to the light in her eye. Something he had seen in his own eyes on occasion. The realization that, because of his House, he would never, ever measure up to some people's idea of Good Enough.

Molly Weasley had given him a hard time for a bit, when he'd made his intentions toward the flame-haired love of his life known. Her animosity for Slytherins had been heard by all. Even if she had Black blood in her family, she'd never acknowledge it. Foolish woman, but she'd given him Ginny and that was important.

How much worse was it for Hermione, who'd proven herself to be beyond practically everyone? The joke in Slytherin House was that it had taken two wizards to tame the witch. "Bet they'll have to double-team-jinx her just to get her to do the dishes," the blokes in his year had remarked upon finding out their Head Girl was engaged to the pure-blood ginger twins.

No one would say that to her face, of course. Mudblood or not, the girl was fierce and no one tried to take her on after the Triwizard Tournament. Even Malfoy left her alone after she'd humiliated him in front of his parents.

But he knew, for he'd been a part of this family for a couple of years, now, that Molly had never accepted her.

"Tolerate you?" he drawled in answer to her question. "Oh, maybe. But my son will still be better looking than yours." He studied his fingernails in an overplayed bit of drama. "He's a Zabini."

"Well, our _daughter_ ," her husband said in a firm voice, pulling Granger to her feet, "will be top of her year at Hogwarts, just like her mum."

Granger grinned and turned to kiss the man—right there, in front of him!—before laughing lightly. "True enough. And being smart is much better than being pretty."

Blaise lifted his empty glass. "To our children, may they terrorize Dumbledore and McGonagall."

"To our children," they echoed.

It was, of course, at that point that their mother-in-law found them. "Blaise, dear, I wondered where you'd gone. And George? Are you hungry? I've got some treacle tart left over, if you'd like. Since Ron's away, I do have leftovers on occasion." She smiled in obvious pride of her youngest son. Blaise didn't blame her; a professional Quidditch Keeper was someone to be proud of and Ron Weasley couldn't honestly have done any better, not being smart like his brothers or as amazing as his sister.

Blaise cleared his throat. "I'm fine, Molly, thank you. Just chatting with Hermione and George, here."

"Did you hear that Ginny and Blaise are having a baby, Hermione?" Molly asked in that tone that set Blaise's teeth on edge. It was her _superior_ tone and it sat particularly badly on her, in his estimation. "My first grandchild!" She crossed the room and, to Blaise's eternal discomfort, took his face in her hands. "Handsome, handsome boy. So brilliant! And only married for two years!"

Wanting very much to disentangle himself from his mother-in-law, Blaise gave her his most charming smile and took her hands briefly in his own before kissing her knuckles in the old way and moving _away_ to get himself another drink. He decided one good turn deserved another and, after shooting a glance at Granger, decided to do her a favor.

"I'm not the only brilliant fellow in the room, Molly. Your own son—well, _sons_ —are as well, you know." He lifted his glass again to George Weasley. "They managed to get their witch pregnant." _At last_ went unsaid but entirely understood.

Granger glared at him, George smirked. Molly, though, went all pale before her face flushed in what seemed to Blaise to be an unhealthy shade of dark red. "She let you?"

"Mum!" Smirk banished from his face, George Weasley wrapped an arm around his wife in what Blaise recognized was a clear defensive maneuver.

In a heartbeat, the other Weasley Twin showed up. "What is it?"

First Weasley Twin grimaced. "Zabini, here, let the cat out of the bag."

Fred—Blaise thought it was Fred—immediately darted to Granger's other side while Molly stared at Granger as if Granger was some species of garden gnome. "Mum, we thought you'd be happy to know you were having a grandchild."

"Another one, anyway," George added.

Granger bit her lip, her brow furrowing briefly before she inhaled and straightened her shoulders. "I'm thinking, from what I heard, that Ginny and I will be due within weeks of each other." With another one of those Snape-brow gestures, she added, "Our daughter might even be _first_."

Blaise snorted; that's all that they needed was _another_ venue for competition between Slytherins and Gryffindorks. Granger caught his eye and smiled a little. It was a distinctly Slytherin smile and Blaise suddenly felt much more comfortable facing Molly. "So, what do you think, _Mum_?" he asked with a deliberate curl to his voice. "Apparently the snakes and lions are producing progeny! You were complaining only last Christmas that we needed babies around the tree, yeah?"

"And I know," Granger asserted immediately, "that you've been champing at the bit for nappies and so on. Time to knit more jumpers, I think." That she said this, Blaise knew, was a deliberate jab. Molly knit Christmas jumpers for all of them except Hermione. Hermione always received a gift, of course, but nothing from Molly's own handcrafting. "I daresay any daughter of mine or son of Blaise's stands a fair chance of being sorted into our House."

Fred and George exploded in laughter at that, and the building tension in the room lessened straightaway. "That's right! They'll be brilliant!" Fred said.

"Ginger doesn't clash with the green ties, there," George added.

Molly's mouth opened and closed like a fish's in Black Lake. "But—But— Hermione? Really?"

Fred and George both, with pride in their eyes, put a possessive hand on their wife's middle. "Yes, Mum. Really."

"Get out your knitting needles."

"And your yarn!"

"Because you'll need to make some baby clothes."

Ginny popped her bright head in at that moment and grinned at Granger. "Hermione! I knew it! I knew the twins didn't look so smug for nothing!"

* * *

 ** _Christmas Eve, 2005_**

Ginny squealed over a box filled with tiny baby clothes. Blaise, who had his hand on her rounded middle, smiled to feel his son move with his mother's loud sounds. Glancing across the way, he saw an awed expression on George Weasley's face. He knew for sure it was George because he was wearing the brown Christmas jumper that had an "F" knitted into it. The boys switched every other year, he'd learned.

Whilst holiday music drifted through on the Wireless, the Weasley clan exchanged gifts that evening. The fire crackled and the scents of pine, spices, and roasted goose lingered in the air. It was quite domestic, Blaise supposed. Very Weasley. He might have sneered, once, years ago, but these days he rather enjoyed the atmosphere.

Even if he never admitted it.

Fred Weasley—who wasn't wearing his jumper at the moment—bent to the floor to lift a box up for his wife. Granger's extended middle wouldn't allow her to do so, of course. "Here you go, sweetheart!"

"Thank you," she said with a polite smile. Blaise divided his attention between Ginny's exclamations over the baby clothes and Granger's cautious approach to the box on her lap.

At length, Granger peeled the paper from the box and opened the top, tucking it securely under the bottom. Then, her brows shot into her forehead and she exchanged quick looks with George and Fred as she slowly drew out her present.

The room grew very quiet, all at once, so that Molly sliding her tea cup across the low cocktail table was louder than it should have been. "What's that you've got there?" she inquired with an obviously feigned air of indifference.

As if a Slytherin couldn't spot that?

Granger's smile was soft and surprised as she shook out the jumper suspended from her fingers. "Thank you, Molly. It feels as soft as Fred's."

"Merino," Molly said before taking a deep drink from her cup.

"Thanks, Mum," the twins said in tandem.

Ginny paused in her effusions to grin at her sister-in-law and Blaise did as well. "Congratulations, Granger," he remarked.

She eyed the jumper he was wearing—Ginny made him put it on—and laughed. "To you as well."

Molly set her cup back on the table with rather too much force. "Well, put it on, then, so I can see if it fits." She huffed a bit and bustled through the congregated children, making impatient motions with her hands.

Granger, slanted smile firmly in place, rose to her feet with some help from George. "All right then." George helped her remove the spangly black jumper she had been wearing while preserving her modesty by holding the white blouse underneath at her waist. Then, Granger tugged on the _crimson_ Christmas jumper.

It bore not one letter, but four. Four _golden_ Ws, in a straight line from the collar over the obvious rounding of her pregnancy—what Ginny told him was called a "baby bump" in the Muggle magazines.

At first, even the fire seemed to still with worry that such an obvious move on Molly's part would be met with disdain—Hermione Granger Weasley had not achieved her reputation because she was weak or lacking in self-respect. But, she smiled, then. A sincere smile, Blaise thought.

It passed as one, anyway. "Thank you, Molly. It's also Merino, right? And I love that all of us are represented here."

There was no fond embrace, no gushing, none of Ginny's oohing and aahing. But neither was there any hexing, so Blaise figured that was good.

Granger stroked her "baby bump" and traced the W over it with two fingers. Fred and George nuzzled her neck and whispered who knew what in her ears. Nauseating, but Blaise didn't object.

Slytherins needed love as much as the next House. They just never said so.


End file.
